Jakunen Mirai
by Kazuya-sama
Summary: [completed] Jakunen Mirai; Lonely Future. Finally, it draws to a close. But here, it can never be said 'all's well that ends well'. Instead, jakunen mirai has come true. [epilogue up!]
1. Pain is Painless reuploaded

A/N: For those that have already read this story, you might find that this version of Chapter 1 may flow a little better; I've quickly revised it and edited all its spelling and grammar errors. I'll be doing the same with further chapters in the future in an effort to make this story more readable.

***

Nothing but the sound of a single man's breathing could be heard throughout the massive dojo. 

Silence. 

A few footsteps against the glimmering wooden parquetry floor, the sound of clothing ruffling, a knee connecting lightly with the glossy surface. A soft sigh, and the sound of a cigarette lighter being struck. The faint orange light illuminated the entire hall, which had previously been in blackness. The dim light cast shadows from the bloodstained pillars about the floor, away from the muscular figure holdings its source, crouched over a body, similarly sized, sprawled in an unnatural position, face up. The face of the only conscious figure in the hall could be seen; dripping with blood, covered in lacerations and bruising. A scar on each cheek was also visible, below dark, heavy eyes. The face, though it held its youth so well, seemed to age with sorrow, silent sorrow, unreadable to the average person. Assumed cold-heartedness marred the warrior's face, as he gently brushed the blood-covered raven tresses from the face of the younger man beneath him.

And finally power was restored to the building, illuminating every corner with blinding golden brightness. Further from the two, another body was sprawled on the ground. The body of a taller, but very much older man, who, judging by the vacant look in his wide-open eyes, and the stillness of his chest, was dead. Other than that, there was nothing else in the hall besides ornate, richly decorated wooden pillars, chandeliers hanging languidly from above, intricate wooden ornamentation on the walls, and a great sparse emptiness heaving above heavily polished timber flooring, to accompany the sickening, humid silence.

The survivor put the cigarette lighter into his trouser pocket – what was left of his trousers, after what had seemed to be a tremendous battle – and pressed two fingers to the younger man's throat. 

Nothing. 

He closed his eyes, holding his breath a moment. He averted his gaze as his eyes slowly opened again. He had achieved his ultimate goal, at the ultimate price. Finally, the man who had taken his life away from him too many times to count, his own father, was dead. And now, his legacy, his last living relative…his silent pride…was also dead.

Bravely, he looked down at the young man's peaceful but battered face. His eyes were closed, thank god, and he looked almost as if he were sleeping. But he knew better. The boy was dead. He had fought so bravely too, as a grudging ally, and a last hope. He'd never understood why the boy had hated him so much; he'd never even met him. It was the old man who'd tried to kill him, just as he himself had suffered beneath the torment of that cruel, heartless tyrant. The boy had been cursed with the same darkness as his own, since his very conception, and that alone was reason enough to hate. But higher up the bloodline, the old man had done damage to the youth as well; in the form of a gunshot wound that should have killed. But his dark gift had saved him, and implanted a hatred stronger than life itself in the young boy's mind. And to think, his father never did a thing to him, and became a target of that hatred.

The man sighed again and stood up. The scar on his chest seemed to emanate a pain tonight; but more of an emotional anguish than the physical pain that had caused it so long ago. The long, wide laceration – running from his collarbone to well below his belt line – had long since healed, but had left its mark on his body and in his memory, so he'd never forget. Never forget the old man's betrayal. The pain stung more tonight; stung with loss. He leaned down a moment, resting his hand on the boy's cheek. In a deep whisper, he made an eternal promise.

"His death was for you, Jin. Never forget this."

Since he was young, the old man's death was something he'd wished for his own conscience, for his own sanity. Now, it was for his son. His only son.

He turned, and walked silently out of the hall, leaving the two corpses as they were. The authorities could do what they wished. It was all over now. Before he exited the huge doors of the dojo, he turned to catch one last glimpse of the son he would never get to know. He drifted out of the dojo in a daze, almost in a trance. Outside, police amongst other officials had arrived in the wake of the disaster; he walked straight past them. In those assumed cold-hearted, icy eyes, one could almost see tears forming.

But that's absurd. 

Kazuya Mishima never cries.


	2. A Visit For The Commoners

A/N: Omg ARIGATOU everyone that reviewed the story! It's given me inspiration to continue ^_^; Gonna have some interesting plot twists, and lotsa flashbacks n' such. And ANGST…if I can manage doing it. I'll end up crying all over the keyboard and doing something sickeningly happy just to stop the poor guy's suffering v_v; However, I shall endeavour to make it…cool =/

-Kazuya-sama, aka MiraiSonGokou

***

Jakunen Mirai, chapter 2

Yawning, Kazuya Mishima kicked his heels up, and rested them lazily on the shiny desktop before him, leaning over to work the computer mouse with his right hand. Yet another boring day of absolutely nothing to do but business. Business business business. With the typical look of stoic coldness taped onto his face, he climbed out of his chair in one graceful move, and stood to go downstairs to forage for food in the office building's kitchen. 

In the spacious yet somewhat crowded lunchroom of the ultra-modern Mishima Zaibatsu business centre, proudly located now in the heart of Tokyo, there was still a lot of chatter filling the air. Talk of the new management, of the change of air, the calm tension that enveloped the entire company. As if smothered by a tsunami from the ocean nearby, the noise suddenly died, aside from the shuffling of feet against the carpeted floor. A figure stood in the main doorway of the cafeteria; a fairly tall figure for a Japanese, only an inch or so off six foot, with the telltale hairdo of a Mishima. The single spike of raven hair could easily be seen on the other side of the room, above all the shorter men and women standing about. The man glanced around, his eerie eyes looking ever so much calmer than most were prepared to admit. The right eye was still its natural deep brown, but the left still had that dark crimson red hue. Still, though the formidable face still bore a long scar beneath each eye, with slightly more pronounced cheekbones than a younger man, there was still something satanically handsome about this man that had caused such a reaction throughout the crowd. Even he seemed a little stunned with this reaction. Indeed; the new CEO of the Mishima Zaibatsu was no less fearsome than his predecessor.

But unlike their previous employer, Heihachi Mishima, Kazuya had little surprises about him all the time. They all knew Heihachi well; when he was in a good mood, a bad mood. They also knew they must continually show him the utmost respect. Silence and making way for him was the first and foremost in this show of respect. But this wasn't the first of the surprises in this first month of new management; in what seemed to be an act of compassion, the once grungy cafeteria had been spruced up and made a very user-friendly place. Old benches had been replaced by numerous lounge suites with glass coffee tables, and vending machines had been replaced with a proper cafeteria. And that was the first of the renovations made by their old employer's replacement. And now here he was, seemingly inspecting the new cafeteria. Heihachi had been a sight to see when he made inspections of the workplace; but there was something so much more captivating about his son, Kazuya. A few of the older employees recognised him from twenty years ago, but back then he'd been so much more devoted to his own work. Only pictures of him had been seen; never himself in person. He looked like he'd had better days, too, in comparison to the older pictures of a cold yet handsome young man. 

Feeling the tremendous weight from the silence – it had only lasted around five seconds, but if felt like many times longer – Kazuya felt compelled to break the silence. His lips, which seemed to be in a permanent contemplative scowl, curved up slightly in what one might depict as a soft smile, and he nodded to the majority of the crowd. Effortlessly, his deep voice echoed throughout the room to every ear, though he seemed not to raise it much above his usual speaking voice. 

"Please, as you were." No one took a second order, and returned nervously to what they were doing, picking up conversations and meals where they left off. Which left in the minds of nearly everyone in the room, the question; 'What is he doing here?'

Kazuya made his way through the crowd, which parted for him oddly enough, and sat down on a sofa in a secluded corner of the room. His face remained emotionless, though he caught many people staring at him uneasily; he could tell they all feared him, and felt like a group of schoolchildren do when the principal is sitting in on a class; best behaviour or else. This thought saddened him.

Finally his stomach reminded him of why he came down here. Slipping out of his seat, he headed towards the bar at the cafeteria to get something to eat. The woman standing at the counter saw him coming, and quickly arranged herself into an erect stance, as if about to be reprimanded. Once again, this was a harsh reminder of how people thought of him. Giving her a funny look for a moment, he then glanced down at a menu, and decided on a simple sandwich; nice and healthy. Blah…oh well, at least it tastes good. "No need for the silly stance." The woman tried to relax, but failed miserably. She was practically shaking out of her clothes. "Just give me a sandwich, please." Not hesitating a second longer, she rushed off to get him his food, and he sighed, leaning against the counter. Why do people always have to react like that? Sure, a little respect is nice, but must people _fear_ him? In the past, fear was something he desired; but now, after living at G-Corporation, and around normal people, he'd decided that all he wanted was a companion, or a friend. Not a secretary or servant – a friend.

His sandwich arrived, and he nodded, taking it and sitting back down where he was before. Watching the way people glanced at him nervously, and so frequently; all he could do was nibble at his food. He'd lost his appetite just thinking about them all.

He'd tried to reason with himself, but the silence in his world was so loud he was growing deaf. Without someone to fight, without someone to even talk to, he had to admit; he was really, really lonely. He only came down here to hear people talk, only to be reminded of what a monster he is; what people thought of him, knew of him, expected of him. As he finished his meal, he remembered Jin; the legacy and friend he'd never gotten to know. If things had gone his way, he'd be sharing lunch with his son. But he would admit this to no one. Hardly even to himself. He'd always been seen alone, stoic, calm and content. He'd always fought alone. Lived alone since he had the freedom to do just that. And now, after the hatred in his heart had been cured, finally he felt that loneliness. 

Hearing nothing but noise in the words of the people around him, he headed back out of the cafeteria, and back upstairs into his office. Maybe his computer would be a better friend; computers don't judge you by who you are…hell, computers don't judge you at all.


	3. Hauntings

A/N: Third chapter, cuz I was bored. This flashback will continue on, mind you. Later. Reviews are nice, by the way. *hint hint* (Btw this is reposted, in an effort to get the italics to work. Don't you just hate technical difficulties when the spotlight's on you for once?)

***

Jakunen Mirai: Chapter 3

Nothing but blackness. Blackness, and consciousness. Perhaps. Slowly, the blackness changed; it was cool, a little too cool. But it was still black. And what of this blackness? What is it? Who knows. The blackness suddenly seemed like a void, so empty, devoid of life. Except for this consciousness. This awareness. Then, like a trickle of water from a melting ice cube, there was sensation slowly crawling through…wherever this was. The sensation began to take on shape; a body. This is a body.

The blackness remained, but now there was consciousness, and a body. There was logic too; reasoning. But with so little to ground itself upon. There was a growing list; blackness, awareness, sensation, body, and reason. The perception of being an infant in a mother's womb became strong for a moment, then died. Infants do not have logic, or perception. Slowly, familiarity added itself to the list. This body was that of a human; a male human. And a sudden dryness completed the feeling of…life. The dryness was drawn into this body with a gasp. It was cold, but refreshing. Vital. It had always been vital. It was…air. The body was breathing; thus it was alive.

This previous logic became silly to think of. It was clear now that the consciousness belonged to a human, a man, and the man was merely…unconscious. Until now. The logic before was now like a dream. But dreams…they need memories, knowledge. And with sudden realisation…there were none. No dreams. No knowledge. No memories.

The humanity began to flow through his veins again; he was awake. Opening his eyes, he saw nothing but dark green haze. And it stung, hell it stung. He shut his eyes again, feeling a small rush of bubbles escape into the cold, around his cheeks. An oxygen mask? Well of course, you dumb shit; you wouldn't be breathing in here if you didn't have an oxygen mask!

Suddenly, he didn't want to be in here. Panic overcame him, and he shot out two hands, only to bash then painfully against something solid before he could even extend them half way. Claustrophobia wasn't something he felt, but he didn't like being in here. But then again, what would await him outside this? He couldn't remember.

A throbbing hum echoed in his ears, vibrating in the viscous liquid he was trapped in. Coolness hit the top of his head, and he felt it slowly lower itself to his chin. His eyes shot open; in front of him was a curved glass wall, still plastered with remnants of what looked like half-set gelatine. Raising his hands as the liquid drained to his shoulders, he pulled the mask off and took a gasp of air; it was cool, and sterile in smell. Yuck. A blurred reflection stared back at him as he stood in the thick liquid; raven black hair, plastered over his face, head and shoulders, with an unfamiliar face beneath the dark locks. One eye was a very odd colour; crimson red. The right eye was a very dark brown, from what he could tell by the blurred reflection. The liquid drained away completely, and he was left standing. He realised he was quite tall, and naked. He didn't remember a bit of this. Not one bit.

The glass tube rose noisily, and the fuzzy silhouettes became people, lots of people, standing before him in white lab coats, muttering and chattering excitedly amongst one another. The language he recognised; Japanese. '…Surprised he's even breathing…' '…Seems to have consciousness…' '…A miracle he's alive…' '…Wonder if he remembers anything…' 

That last comment he overheard struck a chord in his mind. Come to think of it…who was he? Where was he? 

A woman walked up to him, handing a towel to him to get the remainders of the liquid off him, and motioned for him to step down. Seeing no reason not to, he complied, towelling himself off, then wrapped the damp cloth around his waist. A young nurse held out her hand to him, smiling almost flirtatiously. "My name's Denise…I'll take you to the med lab to get you checked up…" He blinked, and grasped the hand, nodding once, and allowed himself to be taken to wherever he was going. Another nurse walked on his other side, looking up at his hair. "Ugh, how can you stand having that stuff all over you? It looks disgusting." He ran a hand through his wet hair, looking down at the gelatinous coat that was left all over his palm and fingers. It didn't bother him. Feeling his lips curve up a little at the corners, he slowly dragged his wet palm and fingers down the girl's bare arm, causing her to squeal in disgust, and the other to crack up with laughter. He chuckled himself; an unfamiliar voice taking the form of the laughing. Deep, clear.

They arrived at the medical section, with a hoard of scientists behind them, following in awe. The scientists in the room looked up, and seemed like they'd seen a ghost. He raised a brow. He raised the other when everyone suddenly started talking in some form of jibberish he had no idea how to understand. Seeing the confusion on his face after half a minute or so, the nurse, still wiping the muck off her arm, spoke once again in the language he understood. "They can't believe you're alive."

He glanced back at the scientists, and grinned a bit, then looked back at the nurse. But a sudden thought struck him…

"This may sound a little odd to ask; but who am I?"

He awoke with a start, and found himself tumbling to the floor helplessly, tangled in bed sheets from the waist down. With a series of thuds, he crashed to the ground, and lay there, a little dazed and confused. Sitting at an unfamiliar angle was his bedside clock, glaring at him in crimson. Three a.m. Lovely. And it was just another one of those annoying dreams. Flashbacks of his past, haunting him, so he won't get any sleep. How delightful; it seems Heihachi's stupid spirit will never let him live. 


	4. Kchan

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews! Yer all too kind! I've got a few good ideas of what to do with him in the present timeline, so it's not all gonna be flashbacks. Once I get going. Oh well. Enjoy. Just don't hurt yourself.

Oh yeah, forget this every time:

I don't own Kazuya, Namco does. BUT GODDAMN I WANNA OWN HIM! …who doesn't?

***

The piercingly loud scream of an electronic alarm clock broke the silence of Kazuya's large bedroom, half-scaring him to death. Sitting up, panting slightly from the shock of the loud sound, he sighed almost angrily, and slapped a hand down on top of it, cutting out the noise immediately. With his free hand, he rubbed at one eye, and used the other to glance down at the LED display on the clock face. Ugh, 6am. How disgustingly early.

***

_"K-chan, are you not hungry?"_

_He looked sleepily up at the pretty young nurse with his right eye…the left side of his face was buried somewhere in his pillow. It was only 6am for god's sake! How could he be hungry at this time of the day? He sighed, and shook his head, yet smiled at the young girl. _

_"I'll eat after I get some more sleep."_

_The nurse nodded and left the small room. And small it was; enough room for a bed, desk, and a small wardrobe; not that he had many clothes anyway. But this was better than having to lie in the middle of a hospital ward, going insane as scientists poked and prodded him, wondering if his body really worked, pondered over his memory loss, idled fascinating over the fact that he was alive at all._

_Yawning, he rolled back over into the small single bed, curling up under the covers again. Going to bed after 2pm – spending the night talking to late night shift workers of course – and being woken up four hours later…it wasn't a good habit. Oh well, it was Saturday regime for him. He'd been like that since he'd woken up here for the first time, six months ago. Though he'd always felt a little disoriented, this place, 'G-Corporation', had become home. He had no memory of a place before this, only here. Being born from nowhere, as an adult. He'd heard mutterings in that foreign language the nurses called 'English' which he was sure were about him, but he ignored it. And why the nurses all seemed so nervous of him to start with, and why some of them still avoid him like he was going to kill them, he couldn't fathom. This place, the place he called home, was the only place he knew. He had to make friends, and he had done just that; even though, at first, it was difficult. People seemed to almost recognise him, and fear him, without him even opening his mouth. But a warm smile and a friendly hello usually eased their tensions, he found. But why he was known as 'K-chan' or 'Kaz', he had no idea. Maybe he was a genetically engineered human, and that letter was assigned to him, and changed into an affectionate name. Oh well, he identified with it._

_Looking at the cheap plastic clock sitting on the desk beside his tiny bed, he decided he'd better start moving before the whole day was gone. It was only 6:30, and at this time of year, the sun would barely be up, but that didn't bother him. Standing, he wandered lazily over to the small wardrobe, and pulled out a blue pinstripe shirt and pair of pants, along with underwear, and his towel, and headed for the small bathroom attached to the bedroom. _

_Quarter of an hour later, he was sitting on the bar-top of the cafeteria serving area, munching a piece of toast. One of his first friends was carted into the hall in a very large wheelchair – like most of his other friends, besides the doctors and nurses and scientists, this man was a patient. G-Corp had taken on a lot of different faculties; science and research, medical and diagnostic, environmental and naturalist. Of course, he was tied in with the two former sectors. The man, being pushed by an old nurse, waved weakly at Kaz, but smiled happily. The man was huge; he took up the entire wheelchair, and oozed over the sides a little. He was terribly obese; and almost a lost cause. Except for the fact that he had a will to live. Kaz munched down the rest of his toast, smirked, and wandered over to the younger man, who most definitely looked older. _

_"Morning…"_

_"Yeah, morning to you too, skinny." The large Japanese man chuckled to himself after the comment, and rested his hands on the armrests._

_"I'm not skinny…I'm just tall for my weight." Kaz grinned a bit and sat down on a chair opposite the table the large man was wheeled up to. _

_"Sure you are. You're a chick magnet too." At those words, the few women in the room glanced at the two, snickered (a few waved), and turned back to what they were doing._

_Kaz snorted like it was funny. "Me? You kidding?! With the ugly mug they gave me?! Come on, be realistic! I look like a cross between Dracula and Frankenstein!" He ran a hand through his raven hair, then folded both over his chest._

_"Who cares about a few scars? You've got the body of a sex god. I mean look at what you're sitting next to! I'm too heavy to stand on my own two feet." Kaz blushed substantially, but frowned as he smirked. "And don't give me that…you might not notice it, but your face just isn't ugly enough to scare those nurses into looking away from that ass of yours."_

_He blushed even more. "What, are you greasing me up so I'll get you chocolate from the vending machine?"_

_The man frowned. "No, of course not! I'm just giving that low self-esteem of yours a boost."_

_Kaz rolled his eyes and swung his legs up onto the table. "Whatever you say."_

***

"…Low self-esteem…feh! Nakamura never knew what he was talking about." Kazuya growled under his breath as he climbed out of the shower, towelling off. After drying his hair partially with the towel, he wrapped it around his waist, and began to prepare for another day of work.

"I wonder how he's doing these days. Perhaps I should pay him a visit sometime…" The flashbacks of his past, occurring seemingly more frequently, kept on reminding him of his past self, and who he was before even that. Somewhere in there, deep down inside, he could feel this strange little stirring of what some people call a conscience.


	5. A Mild Burning Sensation

A/N: Forgot to tell everyone…if you're into Yahoo! chat RPG, this character has an alias, and I do actually use him in chat. Mirai_Kazuya_Mishima is the name. And yes, this story is going to turn into an adventure soon…at least a minor one.

And I don't own Tekken, as we all know…however, I do own…A KAZUYA PLUSHIE! Yep yep, I made him…and ya can't have him…cuz I own him! Not the real Kazuya Mishima…just a wannabe plushie _ Hear that Namco? Can't sue me!

Anywho…

***

Jakunen Mirai – Chapter 5

Kazuya sat boredly before his computer screen, typing furiously on the keyboard. Damned business report was due in an hour's time, and he still had a few more pages to type. Perhaps this was the perfect trial-and-error test for 'does lack of sleep really affect performance?'. After all, he hadn't slept much the previous night, since he woke up at 3am, and barely slept for the next three hours. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he sighed and pondered getting some strong coffee or something, anything, to keep himself awake. Heck, he'd even settle for one of those bitter-tasting energy drinks, no matter how much they make him screw his face up in reaction to the sour taste. But there was no time for that. Steeling himself, he pressed on with his report, forcing his tired mind to cooperate with his fingers on the keyboard.

Forty-five minutes later, the report was typed and printing off quietly on the corner of the desk, and Kazuya had his head in his hands, almost unable to keep his eyes open. He hadn't bothered to do anything with his hair this morning, since his office was in the same building as his home, and he didn't have to travel anywhere to get to it, save a flight of stairs. The raven shards hung over his eyes and between his fingers, and down to the bottom of his neck. With it parted lazily in the middle, he would have looked younger than usual – but the sleepy dark rings beneath his tired eyes betrayed that. He never looked his fifty years anyway.

He had to do something to keep himself awake for now; he could sleep later. But he had to get this report delivered on time. So he booted up the intranet server on the computer in front of him, and began searching the Mishima databases for anything interesting.

That was a bad idea. Business reports, statistics, numbers, more numbers, a few more reports…and then something caught his eye. The name 'Kazama'.

Now he was wide awake. He sat up in his chair, and opened up the file containing all the information beneath the title he'd found. If course, there were only a few pieces of information on Jun Kazama; gender, date or birth, country of origin, and the tournaments the fought in. The picture of her was what caught his eye. Typical Jun. Quiet, timid, smiling shyly at the camera. So pure and innocent. Deep inside his cold, icy exterior, Kazuya felt something. Something warm, but painful. Ignoring it, he looked at the pixelated image again. Then that warmth seemed to seize up around his heart painfully. What on Earth was happening to him?

Slowly the pain seemed to fade harmlessly, but it had left tears struggling to be released from his eyes. The heat was replaced with an empty cold. And that was when he realised what it was. What those terrible feelings were. Love; and love being torn away. The love was that warmth he suddenly wished would return to him, and the emptiness was the loneliness he'd known for so long, but never truly felt.

He blinked away those tears – a true sign of weakness, so says Heihachi – and looked back at the screen, but scrolled down so he couldn't see the image of Jun. It revealed too much of him; too much of him to himself, let alone others. After years of abuse from his father, harsh training sessions that forced him to tolerate massive amounts of pain, he'd hardened himself so much he believed the lies himself. That he was really weak, and had to learn to be strong. And strength came in icy calm, rather than passionate outbursts, emotional rage and torment. It was that sort of twisted lie that made Kazuya even colder over the years; he felt emotion deep inside him, particularly when it came to the topic of Jun Kazama, and the lie in his head told him to cover it up; hide the weakness. And the Devil inside him only screamed it louder to accentuate his anguish. 

It was only over the last few years that he learned that emotion was a strength, not a weakness. But the lies still stayed deep in his mind, in his subconscious, tormenting him.

Shaking the thoughts of his distant past from his head, Kazuya looked further still down the intranet page. There was more? Under the name Kazama, Jin was also listed. Jin. His only son. 

He felt that feeling again. Of painful coldness. But this time, the coldness felt like little icicles being driven into him all over, especially through his chest. Fiery and blood-red images flashed before his eyes; blurred images of violence, yelling, blood. Muffled words of hatred, and his own pain, his own blood. The images darkened to black, he felt his fist being driven through someone's stomach…then silence after the thud. Silence, except for his own breathing. After a few moments of calm, he steeled himself to find something important. Someone important. In his wrecked pants, he found a lighter, which cast light down on the dead body of his son.

He almost choked at the memory. Lately, he'd coped very well with the memory haunting him; but when the reminder of where the boy came from, his angelic mother…it seemed just so much more terrible. Once again he forced those feelings back, back into his mind, where he wouldn't feel them burning him.

He almost put off the idea of looking further down the page…but he had to find out more about the boy, and end his curiosity. Regaining his usual coldness, he looked over the information superficially, reading it, but not processing it for now. It didn't give much detail, anyway. The last few lines were awfully snide though. Talking of terminating the boy because he was weak-willed, like his father. _Like his father._ A sudden explosion of rage threatened to burst out of him, threatening his integrity. He clenched his fists as Heihachi's cruel words echoed about in his head. Words, so many words, elaborating on his every weakness. And now this?! Heihachi, it would seem, shall never let him live in peace. He forced himself hard to calm down, and read the last bit of information. Jin was shot in the head with a handgun. By his own grandfather; the one he trusted so much. No wonder he wanted Kazuya out of the way so he could get to the old man. If only he'd actually known this about his son, he wouldn't have been so happy, at first, to do the same.

The printer beeped a few times, and Kazuya turned his attention to the impending stack of paper sitting on the tray. Ah yes…business as usual. Sighing, he picked up the stack and put a large clip over it, filed it, and called a secretary to take it downstairs to be sent off. After that was done, he decided to go and get some rest. Let the information on Jin sink in somewhat.

Maybe then he'll be able to at least cope with all his losses a little better. But that's hoping a little too much.


	6. Curiosity Doesn't Kill, Just Causes Siez...

A/N: Aight, with this one, I know I babbled. Word count is something like 3 700 or something ridiculous. But I promise it shall prove interesting. And you might find it to be a bit of a thriller if you're more used to the calm of the rest of the story. Nothing jumping out of corners, but similar thrills and spills to that. Aaaaand…two new characters. Have fun with it! Next chapter soon!

***

Jakunen Mirai, Chapter 6

With a wide yawn, Kazuya retreated to his room again, closing the door behind him. Since his living quarters were interconnected with the business area, he had no need for a lot of travel between work and home. One thing he had to admit Heihachi did well was make things convenient for the Mishima family. The mansion, located on the highest hill inside the estate, was large enough to house the entire group of IronFist fighters during each tournament – on one floor. The first floor of the massive home was very hotel-like. The front would remind one of the entryway of a five star hotel lobby, minus the reception and other kiosks. There was a kitchen which remained almost unused, at least to its full potential. When he was hungry, Kazuya would rummage about in the fridge down there, but otherwise there was no real need for it. Connected to it, was a very stately dining hall which doubled as a conference room. The second floor was more like the halls of an expensive hotel, with large wooden varnished doors lining the corridors from end to end. Kazuya's living quarters were at the very end of the hall, opposite a door which opened out onto the balcony, and were no different from the others; the typical dark heavy curtains, high ceilings, ornate decorations on the roof and walls, plush carpeting. The two walls cornering the large double bed had tack-marks here and there; a good guess that this room might have been the same room he had as a child.

As Kazuya pulled off his suit jacket and shirt, he made his way over to a chair beside the wardrobe and dumped the clothes lazily over it. There was a pair of simple satin boxers sitting on the seat of the chair, which immediately got covered when the tie and shirt got dumped over them. But Kazuya wasn't completely lazy, since he could never be bothered hiring someone to clean his room regularly, he did that himself – his mother had made sure of it from an early age – he untied his shoes and placed them together under the chair, rather than just pulling them off and throwing them in random directions. He glanced down at his watch. Two in the afternoon. Looking out of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, he sighed disdainfully; hot summer's afternoon outside, with not a cloud in the sky. No wonder he was so sleepy. Heat and lack of sleep do that to anyone, and he's only human.

A moment later, he looked about, wondering where on Earth he put his boxer shorts. They weren't on the end of the bed…weren't sitting over the side of the chest of drawers (a common place for him to throw things when he's in a hurry) and they weren't in the washing basket in his bathroom from what he could see. Then he remembered; the chair. Rolling his eyes and growling at his own lack of concentration, he lifted the clothes he'd just finished dumping on the chair, found the shorts, and pulled them on before he forgot he was holding onto them. As he did, he found himself staring at that awful scar on his chest, and the few much smaller ones across his arms, legs and abdomen. He frowned. Why did G-Corporation have to make him so ugly? As he headed toward the curtains, he caught his reflection in the glossy glass covering of a painting sitting peacefully on the wall. That image was one he'd go to great lengths every day to avoid; he'd never look in the mirror if he didn't have to, he avoided looking into glass up close…because in his eyes, in light of what he looked like in the past, his face was terribly ugly. The slightly receded hairline, eyebrows which, no matter how hard he tried, never seemed to leave their partial scowl, those disfiguring scars, and his left eye…red never was his favourite colour. He outwardly winced as the image passed him by, putting him in an even worse mood than before.

Daydreaming about how nice it would be to have a holiday, or to sleep on the beach at a nice resort…aw heck, about a new life, being another person entirely…he drew the curtains shut, and lay down on the bed with a soft sigh. 

He lay on his back for a few minutes, thinking sleep would come easily with his level of tiredness.

Ten minutes later, he growled and rolled over onto his side, glaring at the clock.

After watching the LED display on the clock for a further five minutes, he sighed again and rolled over onto his back again, spreadeagled. The heat. It was the heat. Sitting up, he reached for the air conditioner control on the bedside table, and flicked it on. Smirking softly, he flopped back down onto his back, and let his eyelids droop.

As soon as he did, Jin's face appeared above him, shouting something almost incomprehensible about Mishimas.

He shook his head and rolled over onto his other side, curling his arms beneath the pillow. It suddenly seemed awfully hot, even though the air conditioner was running. He ignored it. Instead, he busied himself staring sleepily at the scars on the upper arm in front of his face. There were only two or three on that arm, and they'd faded over the last ten years. But still, who really wanted to look like a grumpy old scar-covered nobody? He sighed yet again, and shut his eyes, willing himself to sleep before he depressed himself even more.

***

Sheree glanced over the coffee cup at Yuki again, and giggled. The slender Japanese girl opposite raised her dark brown eyes to meet her English friend's, and perked a finely manicured eyebrow. The blonde smirked.

"Yuki, you're dreaming again, aren't you?" The English accent in her Japanese was obvious, but likewise, her Japanese was fluent enough to be perfectly understood by the rest of the Japanese-speaking employees in the Mishima Zaibatsu.

Yuki placed her tea down and blushed. "Yes, you caught me."

Sheree nodded her head in the direction of a thin-looking Asian man sitting at the bar, eating a California Roll. "Thinking hentai thoughts about him again, huh?"

If that was said a second sooner, Yuki would have had that last mouthful of tea coming out her nose. "Say what? No! No I…well…" Sheree grinned again. 

"You know, in the UK, there's something we call infatuation…" She said that last word in English.

Yuki blinked, trying to make her blush leave her cheeks. "I know I know, okay, I admit it…" She smiled shyly, looking down at the table almost shamefully. "I think he's nice."

"Nice? Just…nice?" Sheree looked almost disappointed.

"No! I meant…well…" Yuki seemed extremely uncomfortable all of a sudden.

The blonde woman patted her hand. "Don't worry, I know what it feels like to fall head over heels for a guy. And that guy over there…he's quite attractive." Yuki blushed even more and smiled in relief.

"You know, I'd better get back to work, my lunch break ends in another five minutes."

"Good point Yuki…well, I'll see you after your shift ends."

The Japanese nodded stood, picking up her handbag. "Alright. Have fun…printing legal documents."

Sheree rolled her eyes and stood. Once she did, she felt it again; that whole uneasiness about being half a head taller than most of the men in the room. She was only just above average in the UK. "Ah yes, delightful legal documents! I'm so excited! I doubt I can wait another hour…" She loved long lunch breaks. Pity not everyone else was so lucky. 

The two parted company, and Yuki headed back up to the twelfth floor, while Sheree went to explore the executive offices. Since she'd only been here a few months – just before the company had that uproar and change of management – she hadn't explored the whole facility. She took the lift down to the ground floor, and walked beneath the short pavilion to the next building. She'd seen it from the 20th floor where her office was; it was a four-storey mansion with aspects about it from both the western and Japanese culture. She'd always wanted to go inside. But she never quite understood why no one else dared to. It was almost as if it were haunted or something.

She opened the glass doors and wandered inside. And what a stunning sight she encountered; it would seem the main doors from the northern side opened right up into a grandiose conference room. Her blue eyes quickly scanned the area, drinking it in like a sweet and exotic treat. Her curious nature drew her on, however. She walked around the table, and opened the wooden doors that led away from the table. A short way away, she saw an expensive hotel set-up; the whole gold and marble look, with every detail made to look a million dollars. _No wonder they call them the executive offices, _she thought to herself. The only way to explore the offices would seem to be to go upstairs, and that's exactly what she did. 

After she made her way up the carpeted stairs she got the distinct feeling she wasn't really meant to be in here. It seemed even more like a hotel than ever, with wooden doors from end to end of several corridors. But she wanted to explore further; it was in her blood. Taking a breath and steeling her nerves – which shouldn't have been goofing about in the first place, it's just a mansion – she walked to the first door, and turned the handle. Locked.

Rolling her eyes, Sheree walked to the one opposite, and turned the handle. Nope, that was locked too. 

_Time to play the Scooby-Doo Door Game, Sheree, _she told herself, and repeated the process with all the doors down that corridor.

Finally, one of them opened. The one right at the end of the hall, facing a glass door which led on to what looked like a balcony.

Silently, she pushed the heavy wooden door open, and looked inside the dark room. Seemed very much like a hotel inside. She looked up at the door again, and noticed a few symbols in Katakana cut into the wood. Squinting at them, she read them aloud in her head. _Kazuya…Mi…Mishima._ Mishima? Sounded familiar. No, not because it was the company's name. Wasn't the CEO's name Heihachi Mishima? Maybe they were related. But then again, Mishima wasn't an uncommon name, and this may just be a higher-ranking employee's office.

After her eyes adjusted to the dark, Sheree stepped silently inside the cool room, not opening the door any wider than she needed to. Seeing nothing of interest at first, she turned, disappointed, to leave and explore another floor. But then something caught her eye. Someone lying asleep on a bed. And it only took her a few seconds to realise that the man lying on the bed, face-up, had to own the most gorgeous body she'd ever seen that was actually real.

He took a deeper breath, and her heart skipped a beat. He probably had one of those deep sexy voices, she assumed, from the sound of that sigh. For a moment she was scared to move, and merely watched the rise and fall of the powerful chest from where she stood in front of the door. There was a darker area of flesh down the centre of the man's chest which intrigued her. After standing there a while, making sure he was deep in his sleep, she walked slowly toward the bed, making certain she didn't make a sound. Her eyes adjusted more to the dark, and she realised it was a long scar that had that darker shade. It was wider than any scar she'd seen on anyone before, and definitely longer. Whatever caused it would clearly have caused a hell of a lot of pain and trauma. But something about him just seemed to scream that this man was a warrior. The numerous scars over the rest of his body perhaps. Or perhaps it was his sheer size; he was very well muscled for a Japanese, but not to the point he seemed like a western bodybuilder, and he was much taller than most. Almost six foot was her guess. 

Up till now, she hadn't paid any attention to his face. Realising this, she looked down at it, and almost felt sorry for him for some unknown reason. There was another scar on each of his cheeks, and from what she could see from beneath streaks of raven hair hanging over his face, he was an oddly handsome man. Those brows, she could tell, would be pretty fearsome to have scowling at you, but for now, there was something satanically angelic about them. The pronounced cheekbones gave him a look she interpreted as distinguished, and to her delight, he didn't have the typical face of most of the men she'd seen around here; he actually had a jawbone, and his chin was slightly squared off. That exact combination of features was deadly attractive, and it was easy to see that in his waking hours, he'd be just plain deadly. But for now, he looked almost innocent, and so peaceful. Her hand grew a mind of its own and reached down to touch his lips, which were slightly parted. To her surprise, they weren't hardened or chapped as she would have assumed. He looked to her to be perhaps in his late thirties, early forties, and she'd expected harsher skin. Realising what she was doing, she froze. He merely raised his eyebrows slightly in his sleep, and closed his mouth, taking a slightly deeper breath through his nose. With her heart rate going up at a vast rate, she moved her hand and clasped it in the other. She was frightened, but she didn't know why.

Sheree's logic finally kicked in, and she turned and headed for the door, the brief feel of his skin still lingering on her fingertips. Stealthily, she closed the door, and breathed a sigh of relief. She looked down at her watch; 3pm. almost time for work again. She was about to head back downstairs, when, to her horror, she heard an alarm clock ringing. From inside the room she just left! Panic rose inside her chest, and she dashed around the nearest corner, afraid of being caught. It finally came to her that this entire floor was bedrooms, apartments, and living quarters. And the full meaning of the name on the door came to her now; what with the 'change of management' and all, it would seem that old Heihachi had died…and his son had inherited the Zaibatsu. That man in there was a Mishima. He was also young enough, so it would seem, to be the son of someone of Heihachi's generation. That man, Kazuya Mishima, was the CEO of the most powerful company in the world! Suddenly the fingers she'd touched him with felt electrified, as if she'd touched raw power. She never thought men of power were even allowed to be so attractive!

Fear gripped her heart again when the alarm was stopped, and she heard movement from behind the door. Her best bet was to get out of there…she couldn't risk getting caught and losing her job. Living in Japan was expensive, and she didn't want to have to go back to England. Very slowly, she headed towards the door, taking steps so slow and light no one would have heard them if their ears were attached to her shoes. She didn't even realise that she'd taken two minutes to get down the hall and to the top of the stairs. Just as she reached the bottom step, she heard a heavy wooden door creak open, and footsteps fro upstairs. She panicked again, seeing nothing but marble floors ahead of her. Then she noticed the area between the wall and the base of the stairs was carpeted and secluded. She quickly skipped around and crouched as silently and as far from view as she could, as the footsteps got closer and closer. A few seconds later, the steps quickened, and resounded against the wall she was leaning against. He was coming downstairs! She held her breath, and watched, her eyes filling with tears against her will. She'd never been so frightened in her life. 

The noise of the footsteps quietened as the man walked the flat area between levels. As he headed down the second section of the flight of stairs, she watched him, petrified. The side view she caught of his face was a lot more passive than she'd expected; though she noticed his hair was pulled back in a single spike behind his head, and the eye she saw was a crimson red. Crimson red on a Japanese?! She couldn't hold back a slight gasp, but quickly pressed her hand to her lips, her heart almost stopping in her chest.

Hearing the noise, Kazuya stopped as he reached the last step, and rested a hand on the banister as he looked about for a cause of the sound. Seeing nothing, he shrugged it off and continued towards the conference room door. 

Sheree breathed a sigh of relief when he gripped the door handle. Hearing that too, he paused again, and turned half way towards her. All the colour drained from her face as he seemed to look directly at her. While she felt a shock of absolute fear, she also felt a strange tingle of desire; the slight confusion on his features just seemed so much more animated than the passive innocence she saw while he was asleep. He didn't seem to see her after a few seconds; he looked the other way, then out a window, and back to the door. He shook his head and sighed, and headed out the door, throwing the heavy wooden object aside effortlessly, as if it were made of nothing. And to think she'd strained with it!

She waited at least a minute from the time he was gone before she stood up. That was the most terrifying thing she'd ever gotten herself into in her entire life! She dragged herself to her feet, then walked out toward the office building looming over the mansion. So far unseen, she passed through the lobby and pressed the button for the elevator. No doubt that terrifyingly handsome man was far from here by now, she'd given him enough time. And now the elevator was taking forever. Just brilliant. From the corner of her eye, she saw a man walk past. Heh, he was a few inches shorter than her, poor chap. A little further behind was another man. She could tell without looking at him that he was wearing a dark blue suit. Heh nice, someone finally has a bit of flair around this place. After another few seconds, the elevator still hadn't arrived, and she began to tap her foot, after folding her arms over her chest. 

"Likes to take its time, doesn't it?" She almost literally jumped out of her skin. She hadn't realised whoever it was had stopped to wait for the elevator too. She felt a buzz ride through her body. The male voice was rather deep, and smooth. Confident, but oddly enough, sounded just a little dark, and even empty, void of any real passion. He obviously spoke perfect English, and had learned from someone with an American accent, but there was still an exotic hint of Japanese in it. She smiled and glanced up at the figure, but as soon as she did, her eyes widened, and her heart seized up on her once again. He was a little taller than her, almost six foot. Hair smoothed back into a single peak. It was…him! But this time he was on her left; his right eye seemed to be a perfectly normal dark brown. And thank God for her own ego, he was looking at the elevator doors rather than at her, or he'd probably split his sides laughing by now at the shock-horror expression on her face. Blushing heavily, she regained her composure, and nodded nervously, averting her eyes from his. 

"I've never known it to take so long before…" Her voice was shakier than she'd have liked it to be, a little high pitched – but that's what nervousness always did to her. It was hard to speak Japanese when you were so jittery your jaw was shaking, but she pulled it off. When he looked at her out of surprise, she smiled, keeping her eyes on the lift, just as the elevator light finally came on, arrow pointing up.

He stepped forward, politely motioning for her to enter the lift first. Of course she didn't hesitate, because that would be rude, and being rude to the CEO of the company you work for is never a good idea. He entered after her, pressing the button for the sixth floor. She pressed the button for the twelfth.

After a short silence, Kazuya broke the ice. Out of nothing better to do, Sheree assumed. "You're the first Westerner I've encountered that doesn't torture the language." This time, he spoke in Japanese.

Inwardly, she shuddered at the delightful deepness of his voice. "I would rather not humiliate myself by speaking a language I didn't really understand sir; I've been studying it for the past ten years."

He smiled fractionally, and nodded, just as the elevator doors opened to the sixth floor. "Very good."

After the doors closed again, she sighed and slumped against the back wall. She doubted she'd be the same ever again, after today. Good thing the day was more than half over. Just how to cope with tomorrow, however, was the next question.


	7. Twah!

A/N: Warning… 'You thought I babbled last time…well this time, I have 2 000 more words than the last chapter!' 

There.

Disclaimer: I put this in here every once and a while, that's all that's needed. Kazuya isn't mine. We all know that. We also all know that I'm not happy about that idea. 

Claimer: Pretty much all the other characters are from my imagination. Use 'em if you think you need to, but please please ask, or I shall lay claim to your dinner! Mwaha…

Oh yeah. Single (*'s) indicate a change of perspective; from one character to another. So don't get confused…

***

Jakunen Mirai – Chapter 7

Kazuya stood there, tapping his foot, staring into his wardrobe. He'd heard passing comments later that afternoon about everyone in the Mishima company constantly wearing dark, drab, depressing colours…mostly from a group of American visitors. American visitors that not only expected him to not understand a word of English, but didn't even recognise him as the 'Big Boss' of the company they were talking about. Instead of loudly informing them of who he was, he simply stood back innocently; trying to look busy, and just listened in. After all, contrary to public opinion, Kazuya was not a loud, arrogant, obnoxious man. He had always made a definite effort to look confident, but it came naturally with his face; thus, he ended up looking arrogant. He also had a very, very loud voice when need be. So people assumed he was just that; loud, rude, obnoxious, arrogant. No one really knew how much he hated himself, wanted another life perhaps. When his attention wasn't called upon, he preferred to be somewhere in the background. Certainly it was a difficult task, being only an inch under six foot tall, and having a preference to more outrageous hairstyles and suits with a little splash of colour. 

And speaking of colour, now that he stood in front of his wardrobe, he could see none. He sighed, folded his arms over his chest, and tilted his head to the side. Dark blues, dark greys, black. That was the extent of his clothing. Blah, how utterly boring. 

_Like you, Kazuya. Hah._

Both his eyebrows rose. Then he frowned, but smirked slightly. "Fuck off, Devil."

Blinking a few times, and hearing nothing more, he guessed he hadn't completely tamed the demon spirit that lived off his soul. Then again, the spirit didn't seem to be present in him any more, just the residual effects. Such as, the lasting ability to morph into that beastly figure, but with his own mind and control, not the Devil's consciousness taking over. Then he realised that voice had to be that internal…thing…that so often tormented him. The scars from his father's constant verbal abuse were still roar in his mind, and often bled. 

He shook his head about, and sighed again. Pity he never watched many movies; there were always plenty of counsellors in them, offering advice he could probably use. There was always the common sense and logic answers to mental wars; let the logic take over. But, of course, whenever he tried to help himself, that stupid voice always jibed, _you don't deserve it._ The hardest part for anyone was always to convince yourself it was all lies. You had to stop believing the lies. Bur first of all, you had to learn they were lies.

The conflict in his mind began to spike a little. He heard his own voice, and the memories of his father's voice.

_I'm human, just like everyone else,_ he told himself.

_You're weak and worthless,_ Heihachi scolded.

_I'm stronger than any human alive, _he reasoned. _I defeated that bastard Heihachi. I could beat anyone._

_Your victory was luck, baka, _came Heihachi's voice again. _Your will is weak. Look at how your emotions take you over._

Kazuya winced at the reminder. But then Jun's voice joined the battle. _Emotions are a source of strength, not weakness. They offer a barrier against cold logic, and make you more human. _The memory of her actual words was soothing and sweet.

But once again, the memories of Heihachi's cruelness echoed about in his mind. _You were born weak. You will always be weak. You are not worthy of anything. You don't deserve the air you breathe._

Frustrated, Kazuya finally stepped over the line. They were all lies. All lies! He knew he was worth more. People gave him the respect he had earned without him even having to be there. He'd made this company the most powerful in the world. He'd changed so many lives for the better that Heihachi had made miserable in the first place. Surely he deserved more than this…shit!

_I don't answer to you, Old Man!_

He smirked. That felt so good to say…and the memories finally fell dormant. That does it; he'll treat himself for the first time in his life to a little entertainment. He looked back into his bland wardrobe, and pulled out a few items. A few fond memories filled his mind as he pulled out a long leather overcoat he hadn't worn in years. This was the coat he was wearing when Jun gave him his first kiss. It was so long ago, but he'll never forget. He decided to keep with the dark pants he was already wearing, but pulled down a dark blue shirt – it was a much stronger blue than anything else he had to wear – and a pale yellow tie. A very similar outfit to the one he wore so often a couple of decades ago. Tossing the clothes down on his bed, he decided he'd go to a classy bar or tavern in central Tokyo for the evening, and began to get ready to go.

Ten or so minutes later, he wandered downstairs and into the kitchen, where a small notice board stood, nails driven into it at regular intervals, with keys dangling from a few. Of course, the Mishima family had quite a collection of road vehicles, including a few limousines. He looked outside into the garage area, spotting two black limos and a few sporty cars…none of which really attracted his attention. Taking a ride in a limo meant having to wait for the stupid driver to get his backside in here…he hated the man anyway. One of Heihachi's previous employees of course, and had no sense of humour. The sports cars were a risk; people liked stealing cars like that. So, he picked up the keys to his favourite vehicle, and wandered into the garage, locking the door behind him.

He walked to the end of the large garage, and stopped beside a sleek, silver Suzuki Katana. He'd bought the bike himself a month or so ago, soon after he had the Zaibatsu back – in preference to another car, since bikes are easier to get around in, and this little beauty…though it was a super sports, it was very street worthy. He picked up the black full-face helmet and placed it over his slicked-back raven hair, which had been smoothed down flat for once, since it wouldn't be a good thing at all if he'd crammed a darn bike helmet on top of his usual spiked-up hairstyle. 

As he kicked back the kickstand and turned on the ignition, the garage door before him automatically opened. Hey nice…that's an improvement since his earlier days here. Smirking to himself at a few memories of Lee (who often suffered a few insurance issues when it came to the rivalry between the two brothers – Kazuya usually armed with a set of keys, and Lee with damage to his precious paintwork), he set out down the long driveway out of the estate, and headed down the road toward Tokyo, which was only a few kilometres in the distance.  
  


He felt a lot more comfortable behind the reflective mask of the helmet. He was just another member of the commuters on the road, disguised further by the darkness of the night. He'd been taught to be a courteous driver, and unlike Lee, kept to his own lane, despite the temptation to weave in and out of the traffic on the powerful bike. The ride in through the main streets was oddly pleasant; the city central was littered with people and bright lights, plenty of action, and an air of goodwill that wasn't often present in the work environment. Fairly soon, the street merchants and buskers faded into hotel facades and shopping centres, and Kazuya's eyes began wandering, searching for a pleasant enough looking place to quietly spend the evening. Any social activity, even if he was merely present, was a treat for him. 

*

Sheree grinned as Tetsuo quaffed yet another shot of…something. He'd had girlfriend trouble lately, and needed the support offered by the alcohol…but perhaps not that much. The other people around the table were supportive of the youthful Japanese man, but were here more or less for a good time. After all, it was Friday night. In this place, Sheree felt more comfortable. She had an Australian man on her left, and an American woman on her right. Opposite her was another British woman. The other six people sitting around were of oriental descent, one of the young women being Chinese, the others being Japanese. They'd all met each other by chance, formed little friendships amongst two or three, and finally, all the links were dug out, and they all joined each other in the classy tavern in uptown Tokyo. 

Yuki looked over at Sheree and smirked over her tall glass of orange juice. "Tell me, my friend…what's bothering you? You've been shaky the whole day, since lunch time."

The blonde woman glanced back at her companion and shrugged. "I'm fine. Nothing's wrong."

One of the Japanese men sitting opposite her shook his head and sighed. "You look like you've been chased up and down the halls by a ghost, and you say you're alright. I saw you coming back to work this afternoon, and you looked like you were about to drop dead."

She scraped her fingers through her blonde tresses and shook her head. "I just had a strange run-in today, okay? A few important people. You know what large focuses of power in one place do to me. Stress me out."

Tetsuo looked up dazedly from his shot glass, and added to the conversation…in a somewhat slurred manner. "Sheree sweetie…as long as it wasn't T.H.E. head guy around the place, you're fine."

The American woman petted her shoulder and grinned across the table at Tetsuo. "Ya know, after all the shit that's gone on inside the company lately, who could know what the head guy looks like? If he's anything like his father, we'd know who he is…but I ain't seen nothin' of the man."

Sheree sighed. "It WAS the Big Boss I crashed into. I met him outside the lift before I went up."

Every eye around the table snapped towards her. The other English woman was the first to break the ice. "Is he hot?"

All Sheree could to was slap her forehead with one hand, and go bright red, trying not to laugh herself to pieces.

"Well? Or is he an ugly old fart like his Dad?"

She couldn't answer, she was in the hysterics. Kazuya, and old fart?! Hell naw.

"I'm really serious this time. I wanna know! Is he an old bag…or is he sexy? Or just okay…?"

Yuki giggled too. She'd seen him once or twice, hadn't paid much attention to the face…just his body. He was definitely well muscled. Or fat-chested. Hard to tell from under a suit. "Or is he a fag?"

Sheree shrieked with laughter and slammed both fists down on the table, taking a gasp of air. "You're not helping!"

Everyone laughed sedately with her, waiting for her to calm down. Finally, she took a gasp of air again, and panted. "Okay…to tell you the truth, I really don't know how to explain him. He's just…well damn. The air around him is electrified or something. He's got a really deep voice though." Inside she was kicking herself. She wanted to tell the whole world about how damn attractive he was. At the thought, she blushed.

Most people decided to back off a little, and not pressure her too much about it…to avoid embarrassing her. It was obviously one heck of a fun-in to do that to her.

*

Kazuya pulled off the main street, and parked the bike outside a quiet looking tavern. It'd been such a long time since he'd gone out into this sort of place. Heck, Jun was the last person he'd gone anywhere special with! Ah, Jun…he could remember how heavenly it felt when her chin rested in just the right spot on his shoulder. He missed her.

He pulled off his helmet and locked it down on the bike, slicked his fingers through his hair – which he hadn't bothered to style at all – and silently stepped into the bright room. Seemed fairly lively inside, people sitting around tables, laughing, sharing drinks. The entire atmosphere of enjoyment lifted even his spirits a little as he made his way towards the bar. Along the way he found an unoccupied table in a less populated area of the tavern, and sat down there. If he stayed here a few hours, he'd allow himself one drink. After all, driving a motorbike was always harder than a car, so driving with a buzz was out of the question. Pity though, a lot of the drinks on the stand-up menu on the table looked pretty nice. Then again, he knew how to make one drink alone last hours. He'd just pass the time, relaxing in the friendly environment. And since this place was one of the classier, there might be a live band later on in the evening or something like that. 

*

No one at the group had noticed any newcomers to the tavern since they themselves entered. They had better things to do, like have fun and talk to each other merrily. 

"So, uh, what now?" Since eyes were off Sheree now, they needed another source of entertainment. The American woman gazed off into the distance a moment, dreaming of late-night parties in Las Vegas…oh the fun you could have in that town…when an interesting sight caught her eye. Someone sitting alone. No one sat alone at places like this, did they? But no, the man, clearly Japanese, was sitting on his own. His hair was a little longer than one would expect, quite a bit of it sitting down the side of his face. He wasn't young, but he was most definitely not old. She guessed late thirties, early forties. His dark eyes looked oddly empty as he stared down at a drinks menu. Yep, he was lonely. Probably having girl trouble like Tetsuo.

She nudged Sheree in the side, and spoke in English. "Lookie at that fellow over there. Looks awfully lonely, doesn't he? Ya think we should invite him to the table?"

Sheree looked where her friend was pointing, and gasped. As he shifted his head slightly, his hair fell forward, revealing that scar she'd grown to recognise so easily this day. "That…that's…"

The others turned their attention to her once again. Yuki didn't recognise him, so she was of no help there. "What is it, Sheree?"

Sheree shook her head, blushing shamefully at her reaction. "It's him. Kazuya Mishima. Our boss."

The other British woman, peered over her shoulder as discreetly as she could, stared a few seconds, then turned back, grinning. In strong cockney English, of course, she gave her opinion. "You know Sheree…you coulda told us he was fuckin' hot to start with, silly girl…" Sheree blushed even more, but the rest of her went quite pale. 

"It's alright with him not noticing us and us being in quite a group here…but wait till you meet him face to face, on your own. He's taller than he looks, sitting down…"

One of the Japanese men nodded his head. "I would be awfully nervous meeting the head guy himself. I mean…massive focal point of power. That…and the payroll."

*

Kazuya blinked a few times, and paused. He thought he heard his name, for some bizarre reason. Shrugging it off, he sat back in his chair, and looked about the crowd. They all seemed so happy, so relaxed. He was used to being excluded from society, so simply being able to sit in on the atmosphere was a treat on its own.

But suddenly something didn't seem right. He got this sudden feeling of dread washing over him, making his blood run cold. The self-defence feeling of disaster, and the desperate need to leave. He ignored it, and waited to see what would happen however. No need to panic for no reason.

Then, before he knew it, people started shrieking and several male voices boomed through the place.

"Everybody freeze! Hands behind your heads!" A group of around eight armed men had stormed into the place. One, armed with a black Desert Eagle, walked forward toward the bar, or more directly, the bar cashbox. _Ah, pack mentality, _Kazuya thought to himself. _Alone they are weak, but together they feel strong._

He was born with the desire to fight and win. And when one of the pack members began to harass nearby people with his knife, threatening them and enjoying their screams with sadist pleasure, it was just too much.

*

Could the evening get any worse? First of all, several run-ins with her company's CEO…not even her department boss…but the big guy himself…now she crashes into the same guy at her favourite bar…and now some idiots are trying to rob the place? Oh well, works better than a bank, supposedly. Might as well just nicely stand back and let them do whatever, and they won't hurt you.

*

Kazuya leapt forward without any warning whatsoever, and almost literally crashed right into the biggest member of the gang that was there, pummelling him to the ground in an instant, and snatched his weapon. He stood back, holding the gun in one hand. How guns revolted him so much…but he held it, even though he felt it crawling about against his skin despicably. Now that their strongest member was down for the count, Kazuya had control over the situation. And quite intelligently, he stood side-on from a slight distance, since there was another of them behind him.

"Drop your weapons."

They didn't seem perturbed by Kazuya's threat, though inside they were beginning to wonder whether this was such a good idea. The one that was heading towards the cashier turned, and tossed the Desert Eagle aside.

"Ah, so you want to play the hard way, eh tough guy? Alright…we'll knock you out, and continue what we started."

He couldn't help but smirk ever so slightly to himself. Cocky fools. If only they knew who he was…King of Iron Fist, and last survivor of the Mishima clan. The first dived at him, tossing the Desert Eagle aside, and swung out at his face with a previously concealed knife. But he was a mere amateur, and Kazuya was beyond professional. He ducked to the side, and delivered a short punch to the man's stomach…or what would seem to he a short punch…but he fully extended his arm, despite the close range, and with his universally known unnatural strength, flung him halfway across the room, and sent him skidding along the ground on his back. He spun around just as another burly figure leaped at him with his fists forward. Bad, bad attack. Kazuya simply sprung a short way off the ground with one foot, and delivered a powerful uppercut with the opposite knee, setting his opponent airborne. As he came down, he assisted gravity…swinging his leg high as the man fell in range, and slammed his heel down on the man's back, forcing him to the ground with impact enough to more than wind him.

*

Well, this was an interesting turn of events. Now her boss was kicking serious ass, and saving the tavern from a robbery. Damn, she should have known he was such a skilled fighter. And he looked so deadly attractive…and flexible.

_Ugh, dirty thoughts!_ Sheree scolded herself for that. As the second man was defeated, she gave a little whoop of joy. Following that, a few others in the crowd cheered too, as he slammed a third man into a wall. 

But then she noticed something odd. A black figure shifting about at her side. Looking down, she realised it was the leader of the gang, reaching out for his gun. He stood, and aimed directly at Kazuya's head.

Sheree shrieked, and leaped at the man, despite all her inner rebellions. She wouldn't allow the poor man to be killed after such a valiant effort.

"No!!"

She managed to grab his wrist and pull it up, just as he fired the weapon.

*

Just as the third gang member was thrown against the wall, Kazuya heard a shrill shriek from a woman, and a weapon being fired. Immediately his attention was drawn toward the commotion, and he whipped his head around to see what it was all about. As he did, his eyes widened; a bullet whizzed by his ear, hitting the wall right next to him…it'd only missed by a few millimetres. But he was also being attacked from another direction, since the gang didn't seem to be very well coordinated within themselves. He felt a spiking, burning pain as something sliced through his cheek, and thudded into the wall on his other side – he couldn't help but cry out at the sudden pain. Then, as the burning subsided after a second, he felt heat stream down his face. Blood.

His eyes filled with a slight hatred, and ferocity unseen by most for a very, very long time. 

"Kisama ka…"

The culprit backed away as Kazuya slowly and menacingly approached him, raising a fist, and threw a false strike. Then, at just the point he was expecting, the man ducked. Kazuya swung a leg up and over the head of his previous attacker, caught the neck with his ankle, and threw his leg down with all his might. The result; the famed BitchKicks attack, which promptly sent the man flying into the ground, knocking him unconscious upon impact.

However, with the sudden attack of anger, Kazuya didn't notice the first man he knocked out had awoken, and wasn't pleased with his presence either. The burly figure grabbed the much smaller Kazuya by the neck, and threw him across the room.

*

With a sharp jab into a tender part of the neck, Sheree forced the gang leader to involuntarily drop everything…including the gun…then disabled him as soon as she could with a well-aimed kick into the groin with her rather pointed-toed shoes.

The next thing she knew, she was hit with a very large object, and thrown into the ground.

After a moment of panic, she looked down to see a little blood on her shirt. The object – still lying on her from the impact – was Kazuya! After a second, he growled and rolled off her, and sprung to his feet. His cheek was bleeding pretty badly, and her shirt was splashed with the crimson liquid. 

He flew right back into the fight again of course, but she sat there on the ground, trying to recover. When he slammed into her, she felt like someone had thrown her into a brick wall. And for the two seconds he was on top of her, she could feel that muscle of his, moving so fluidly beneath his skin, as he got his bearings and pulled himself up again. She blushed heavily as she realised how that would've looked…her face up, him face down…ugh, let's not go there.

The action had turned in favour of everyone else in the tavern; the gang had lost control of the situation, thanks to Kazuya's intervention. Yuki and Tetsuo reached down and pulled Sheree back onto her feet.

"Are you alright there? Speak to us…you okay?"  
  


She just nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine…has anyone dialled the police yet?"

No one had. It didn't seem quite necessary…one man taking out six, after all.

*

His cheek was burning, but he ignored it. It wasn't a deep wound, even though it was right on top of a scar that was already on his face. Five of the six gang members were standing before him, definitely not feeling sure of themselves now. Kazuya felt that Devil Gene inside him burning almost as much as his cheek for a moment, willing him to transform. But he didn't particularly want to, since that wasn't a very nice public image…besides, there was no need. He was simply used to this point in his body's exertion for the real activities to start. But then he felt a grin creep across his face. As much as it hurt for his cheek to be stretched after being sliced, he smirked. Then, with almost no effort, his eyes began to glow a bright golden yellow…thankfully he was in such a position that no one but the gang would see. And the reaction was a beauty. They all seemed to suddenly truly fear him. Now this was more like it! Kazuya was accustomed to fear. Though he didn't appreciate it most of the time, in situations such as these, fear is a useful element for him to bring out in people. 

The gang members seemed to simultaneously reach the same answer to their dilemma – just as Kazuya raised a fist – and turned tail to run out onto the street, away from their opponent. But just as they did, a large number of police cars screamed up in front, skidding to a halt in front of the tavern…and closed the gang between them and the tavern. 

Kazuya's eyes returned to their normal colour, and he folded his arms over his chest, before walking back inside. He headed back over to his table calmly, reached down, picked up a paper serviette, and wiped some of the blood off his face and neck. Outside, the police began rounding the gang up, handcuffs and all, into the back of the paddy wagon. 

*

Sheree regained her composure, and had managed to dab most of the bloodstains out of her shirt. Of all the people in the room, she guessed she was the only one that was trained to be a nurse, and as the last gang member was rounded out of the place, she walked over to the counter, retrieving a first-aid kit from the bartender. Of course, she quickly made sure that everyone else was alright, before going to the patient who needed the most bandaging up. Turned out one woman needed a nail file, because her fingernail broke in the commotion, and someone else needed a bandaid – but other than that, nothing serious.

*

Now that the action had ended, there were a few police officers inside, questioning a few bystanders and the bartender…nothing that concerned Kazuya. He just sat down, fiddling with the blood-soaked serviette. Then, much to his surprise, his field of vision was suddenly assaulted with a white briefcase-like thing being plonked down on the table in front of him.

*

She saw his eyebrows rise at her sudden arrival, but smiled as she opened up the first-aid kit in front of him.

"Don't worry, I'm trained in first aid. We've got to patch up that wound in case it gets infected."

She smiled even more when it turned out that Kazuya was really just the typical brave male...and probably just a little scared of the good ol' needles and anaesthetics. "There's no need." She should have expected a reply like that. Then again, it didn't seem things like that really bothered him. Maybe he just wasn't used to the attention. Or, then again, with the many scars he already had all over his body, he was probably used to being diced up.

"Oh come now, there's no need for great ugly infected scars all over your face, either. It won't hurt…" She had absolutely no idea why she was mothering this man so much. But she was in a position of power now, and it felt great. She pulled out a soft cottonwool pad, and soaked it in a disinfectant from a small brown bottle within the first aid kit. So far, he hadn't offered any resistance. Squeezing out the excess, she then stood a little closer to him, then placed the wet object against the wound.

The reaction was pretty typical. His face suddenly screwed up, and he frowned heavily, hissing slightly with the stinging sensation. "Itai…" He didn't seem to allow himself any more than that whispered acknowledgement of the pain. 

A mothering instinct had her press the other side of his head gently against her stomach as she stood next to him, holding the disinfectant-drenched cotton wool against his face for a few seconds longer. He was surprisingly obedient. And she noticed, as he opened his eyes again, that his left eye had oddly faded back to a more natural shade of dark brown. How strange. As the stinging clearly began to subside, she lifted the cotton wool off his face, and dabbed up the remaining drips of the disinfectant. The wound, now quite a lot more visible, had almost stopped bleeding. It was well aimed too; right over the original scar on his right cheek. Lifting his head from against her, she leaned down and faced him so she could inspect it better. Once again, he offered no resistance, funnily enough. She would have expected, from someone with a reputation like him, to be practically kicking and screaming by now. But no, he just held his face wherever she put it.

"It's not a very deep wound."

"I could've told you that."

_Sexy smartass… _she thought to herself. But she ignored the remark. "I think you'll just need a protective layer over it while it heals; it's not gaping, so you won't need stitches or duct tape…"

*

He blinked. "…Duct tape?" Were all women this strange when it came to first aid, or was it just this one? Or perhaps it was something British women did…but duct tape? Ow…

Something else that he noticed on the side, now that he thought about it…the vision in his left eye seemed perfect all of a sudden. Since G-Corp messed with him so many years ago, it'd always been slightly blurry, which was annoying, since the vision in his right eye was fine. But now…his vision was perfect in both eyes.

*

She chuckled. "Sorry, I have a bad sense of humour."

He seemed almost relieved that she wouldn't be putting great slabs of black sticky-tape all over his face. Instead, she just put a piece of wide bandaid-like membrane over the wound. It didn't show up much, since it blended into his face well. Then she began packing the kit back up again, and collected all the used gear in a serviette to be thrown away. 

Then, much to her surprise, he looked up at her a second. "Thanks." 

She blushed, despite herself. "Well hey, I'm the only trained ex-nurse in the building…"

He smiled, and she wandered off to return the kit. A moment later, she sat back down on her chair at the table, while a few more people than Tetsuo chugged a shot or two of strong liquor. She looked back over at Kazuya…sitting there, all alone. There was a spare seat over at their table…and after all he did tonight, the least they could do would be invite him over and give him a free drink…for saving their lives, or their wallets…or both.

The American woman got there first, however. She stood, and waltzed right over to the Mishima. "You look awfully lonely, sitting here on your own. There's a spare seat at our table, ya know? Come on over and join in the fun…"

*

He didn't know what to say…someone was offering him a seat right in the middle of the social action? He'd wished for such an invitation for a great many years, but the closest he'd gotten to it was business conferences, which were boring anyway. He couldn't hold back the slight curl of his lips in the corners. "Are you sure?"

The busty American woman nodded, and continued in her terrible accent. "Yeah, of course I am! Come on over, have a drink…you deserve it after that save of yours…"

Before he really knew what to say or do, she looped her arm through his, dragged him up, and took him back over to the group's table, sitting down, and sitting him in the free seat next to her. Then he suddenly felt uncomfortable; all eyes were on him. He felt compelled to speak. But it seemed someone had him covered. The young man across from him, obviously drunk, grinned and nodded to him. "Let me buy you a drink, sir…" Kazuya couldn't hold back the smile any longer. It was like a dream. People didn't seem to care who he was, he was a friend at the moment. Nobody's superior, for now, just another companion on a quiet Friday night.


	8. Damn Technology To Hell

A/N: I did this rather quick chapter because I was bored, basically. I'd just finished writing an anti-Chang story…I'm sure a few of you have read it. Yep, I hate them both, Burn in Hell, Michelle, and take your goddamn daughter with you.

This chapter is subtly building up for what's coming next. No hints other than that. Let's just say the action will get a little more Tekken-like in the future.

~Kazuya-sama

***

Jakunen Mirai, Chapter 8

Kazuya sighed deeply, and stared down at the idiot contraption, waiting for it to do something besides make odd noises he knew it shouldn't be. He'd stood there for almost fifteen minutes now, watching the machine boredly. And to make matters worse, everyone else wanted to use the photocopier too. This Friday was certainly different from last Friday's rather social outcome, to say the least.

He'd had no luck so far today. No luck with anything at all. His alarm clock decided it was time for daylight saving, even though it was July, and he woke up an hour late. Then, his secretary called in sick. Of course, he had to get a surprise email waiting; a few shipments were going to be late because of a tropical storm off the coast. And since his secretary was off work for today, he had to do his own photocopying…not that he minded, but it was frustrating when the photocopier at the mansion, like everything else, wasn't working. Actually, it was just churning out paper with black ink splots all over it. He had to pull out the paper tray to shut it up, then turn off the power at the wall. And now the photocopier in the main building was doing nothing but make strange sounds.

To create just a little more tension, everyone was dead silent, as if they were scared of rustling paper and signing their deaths to their boss. He glanced over his shoulder at the woman standing behind him with files to copy, then looked back at the machine. To hell with it, he might as well break the silence. "I take it my predecessor didn't believe in maintenance, ne?" A few people shook their heads in agreement. It was a few more tense seconds before he actually got a reply. It was the woman who stood behind him.

"In all the years I've worked here, I've never actually seen a new photocopier here." 

He looked at her again, and she visibly grew extremely nervous. Gee, it wasn't like he was going to eat her or something. He looked over the back of the photocopier and raised a dark brow. Well, there were certainly plenty of spider webs down there.

"You know, I'd certainly believe that…"

A few people shifted nervously and glanced down at their documents and watches. Yes, time was always of the essence, and right now it wasn't co-operating. 

"This is ridiculous. I'm going to call up for a new photocopier, this one is going to die any moment." Just as he was about to walk off to get to a phone, the copier started churning out paper at an incredible rate, and people started panicking, trying to stop the paper from flying out. Eventually, someone just pulled the plug out of the socket, and a few sighs of relief could be heard.

***

Two hours later, the copier disaster had been amended, and, much to Kazuya's surprise, his laptop computer actually turned on without getting the Blue Screen Of Death. The internet connected, too. This looked promising.

He'd logged into his email account, and was looking for anything new. Hopefully not a stock market crash, knowing today. He scrolled down the page, and found something he wished he hadn't.

'live babes on cam…'

He stopped reading the subject heading right then and deleted it. As he looked further down the page, he found more. Great…someone had sold his email address to a porno ring. He _knew_ something had to go wrong with the computer somewhere. He searched out all the undesirable material, and blocked the email services that had sent it. Once it was over and done, there was only one unread email left. He opened it, and began reading.

It was notifying him of another raid on G-Corporation. This time, it was the San Francisco office. As he read further, the email turned out to be an address of concern, since the target of the raid was him. Him? Indeed. It took him a few moments to come to terms with that; who wanted him dead now? He replied to the mail, informing the sender he was just fine, and unaware there was a raid at all, let alone he was the alleged cause of the involvement. He also asked for more information. This was something he couldn't let slide.

In the meantime, he opened his diary beside the computer, and looked for a free day. Next Thursday…brilliant. He noted that Tokyo's G-Corporation office was due for a visit on that day. 


	9. To Be Lost In One's Mind

A/N: This is yet another short chapter, since I'm out of practise with this story. Action is a little way off at the moment, though we're going to learn more about K-chan over the next few chapters. Sorry about the length between updates, people.

Disclaimer: I do not own Tekken, damnit.

~Kazuya-sama

***

Jakunen Mirai, Chapter 9

No glistening black limousines, no expensive, sleek sports cars…in fact, it was an old taxi. The whole trip, Kazuya didn't say a word, only that he needed to get to G-Corporation's rebuilt Tokyo office. The cab driver clearly didn't mind, since he didn't make an attempt to even look on the rear view mirror at him, let alone begin a conversation. So Kazuya simply sat quietly in the back of the run-down vehicle – more or less a 1998 Commodore or something similar – and watched the world go by.

After the half an hour trip in rush hour traffic, he paid the driver and stepped out into the crisp morning air, and headed in the glass doors of the imposing skyscraper. As soon as he'd stepped into the lobby, there were faces that recognised him immediately; most of them wore smiles at the sight of him. To their disappointment, however, he didn't return the smiles, just a polite nod. He barely recognised them for a start, and why would they smile at him anyway?

_"What do you mean, lost cause? I am _not_ a lost cause!"_

_"It's been six years, K, there's just about impossible for anything to happen any further at this point."_

_He scowled. "It doesn't mean there's not a slim chance something might come of it! It may have been six whole years since you finished with me…but I refuse to accept that the experiment was a failure!"_

_Taking a deep breath, the scientist before him steeled himself, counting to ten, refusing to shout at his 'patient'…who had, over the last few years, been more of a test subject than anything. He didn't care about him, only his research. He knew who this man once was, but he didn't care. His Caucasian superiority granted him the right to do whatever he pleased to the Japanese test subject. Though, he'd found, not everyone agreed. "Look, the human mind is only capable of so much. Even if we told you who you once were, you'd still not remember. Besides, you won't like it."_

_K-chan used all of his inner strength and self control to hold his fists down by his side, rather than lash out and break the bastard's neck. "I don't fuckin' care if I'll like it or not, I'm tired of this worthless existence in this hell-hole! If I had a life out there, somewhere, surely I'd appreciate knowing what I once was!" He felt one of his lower eyelids twitch slightly, and he knew he'd have to do better in controlling his rage. What he'd found, over this last year in particular, was that he had something inside him, some sort of second consciousness, that fed his rage like fresh wood to dwindling flames. He paused a moment, and forced his voice down in tone and volume. "Listen Greg, I'm not ready to give up with the little work you've done to try and regain my memory. With all the technology at your disposal, you'd be better off using it for the better of the company than using it as Tinkertoys for your pet hamsters."_

_The middle-aged American didn't say anything for a moment. He knew if he aroused the Japanese man's temper too far, he would really be in for it. After all, his martial arts ability was mind-numbing. Heck, he'd been a fantastic fighter when he was alive the first time. And now, with this regeneration of his body, he was even more fearsome. And looks are deceiving. K-chan, as he was affectionately known as by the nurses around, looked thin and scarred at first glance, but he had deceivingly powerful muscle, despite its lack of bulk. He was stronger than the G-Corporation thought humanly possible for his size and build…not to mention, he had a frighteningly potent temper._

_With a sigh, he finally gave in. "Alright, we'll see what we can do. For now, look up this on the intranet." He handed him a small piece of paper with a long string of numbers and letters, which he by now recognised as an information file on G-Corporation's highly secured intranet._

_Without saying a word, K-chan turned and exited the small lab, and headed for the nearest computer terminal. The desire to recover his identity – a name, his real self – was too much to resist._

He approached the front desk, as unsmilingly as ever. The receptionist, vaguely familiar, smiled when she saw his face, and clearly had a hard time resisting the urge to give him a tight hug around the neck. Had it really been that long since he'd been in this place he'd once called his home?

"I'm here to see Yasashiku Jiro. He's still here, isn't he?"

She smiled a little more – if it were possible – and nodded. "Yes, he's upstairs…three floors up from his usual place. Can't miss his office, it's about as fancy as they get."

Three floors up…oh yes, he used to be on the 41st floor. Kazuya nodded once, and headed off in that direction, after a quick note of thanks. The receptionist continued to smile.


	10. Revelations

A/N: Sorry about the long time, once again, between updates, all you out there who give a dang. Bit more of K-chan in here, and in the next chapter, a bit more of Cheree and her friends.

Btw, I'll be spending some more time on Crimson…for those who read my other stories. I like creatures of the night…mwaha. And I'm trying to find an excuse to continue Beach Day and Chaolan's Confession, but I have no ideas for the former, and little interest in the latter. Anyone who has contributions are most welcome to make them; all ideas are welcome.

***

The words meant nothing to him so far. Just mindless yammering about tournaments and fighting and family disputes.

_None of it was familiar._

_Could it be possible that Greg was somehow right? Did that asshole really know that nothing could be done for him? Until now, he'd refused to accept it. But there seemed now to be a strong possibility that it was all a waste of time. Maybe his mind was so fried that there was no hope of retrieving the information buried deep within it. The information that would tell him who the hell he was. Then, he saw it._

_An image of a lovely young woman, standing humbly before a massive crowd, with a large blonde-haired man in a red Gi at her feet, clearly unconscious. Her raven shoulder-length hair was slightly ruffled, but held back by a white headband; the same white as her shorts and socks. She looked like an angel. At the time it must have been nothing but a happy-snap…but it was invaluable in the sense that it triggered something…something so deep K-chan didn't even know it was there._

_It caused an incredible spike of pain in the centre of his brain, like someone had stabbed him from the inside. A muffled gasp escaped his lips, followed by a deep moan of agony…and he grasped his head between his hands, unable to move from that position. Unable to think._

_Then everything went black._

_***_

The ride up in the elevator triggered something in his mind that was painfully familiar…literally. He found his still slightly foggy memory being jabbed into action once again, this time of recent events that seemed to have happened so long ago. He was told that if he left this place, then he would quickly forget it as he moved on to his old…or new…life. Unfortunately, they had only been partially correct. He remembered this place fairly well, only it felt like he'd lived here twenty years ago, rather than half a year ago. He found many faces vaguely familiar, though so far he could place few names to them. It seemed that everyone else remembered him however; so many people had smiled and greeted him by name…all he could do was nod in reply so as not to seem rude. 

Damn, the elevator certainly was slow today. At least it gave him time to think. The familiar smell was almost unbearable; his mind faded in and out of familiarity at a frightening rate. One moment, he felt like a complete stranger, the next he felt like he was visiting a childhood home; the smells evoking a sense of homeliness in his heart. One moment, he felt like he belonged; the next, he remembered that he was no longer a part of the G-Corporation.

And the next…it reminded him of that fateful week when everything shattered like the delicate glass of a church window.

***

When he awoke, he wasn't in his room.

_Actually, the place was somewhere he had been before…six years ago. Only this time he wasn't being used as a test subject to see if he was capable of higher cognitive functions. In fact, he knew exactly who he was…or did he?_

_He was still K-chan…only with a massive headache. It hit him again, and, wincingly, he raised a large, slender hand to try and quell the raging ache. Not that it did much for it at all. To his relief, a moment later, a pleasant chill hit the top of his aching head, and when he glanced upward, he noticed a young nurse holding an ice pack to his head._

_"How are you feeling?"_

_How did he feel? "…Like shit…"_

_The young woman chuckled, and ran the back of her hand across his cheek. That was pleasantly cool too. "You collapsed yesterday, by one of the computer terminals. We've been doing scans all night; they figured you had some sort of information overload or something."_

_He dropped his hand away after using it to rub his sleepy eyes. He still felt groggy, despite the rude awakening of the pounding in his head. "How long have I been out for?"_

_"About eighteen hours." Her answer was matter-of-fact and business-like in an effort to avoid the outburst she could foresee, but it didn't work._

_"What?! Eighteen hours!" He realised how loud that came out, and slapped a hand over his mouth for a second to calm himself down. After a moment, he lowered it to his side on the laboratory bed again, and took a deep breath. "I was out cold for eighteen hours? …What a waste of a good day…"_

_She smiled and shook her head. "It was raining anyway. It's about nine in the morning, you didn't miss much." She paused a moment, adjusting the ice pack, then continued thoughtfully. "What exactly were you looking at on that computer? I mean, they didn't tell me, only that you collapsed and that I'd need to keep an eye on you until you woke up…"_

_He thought a moment, willing the pain away so he could talk without having to think over it. "Greg gave me some references. He was sick of me demanding to know who I am I suppose, so he threw me in the deep end."_

_For a moment, she certainly looked nervous. "What did you find out?"_

_He thought about it again, and ignored the pain in his fried brain. Damnit, was it going to ever go away? The ice pack wasn't doing much to comfort him. "Not too much. Just useless information about some tournament, fighting, and other shit. I think it was a picture that killed me. It was of this young woman. I think I know her…when I saw her, my brain just exploded into pieces for some reason. Ugh, there it goes again…" His last comment was strained, and forced through a wince of agony. His hand found its way to his head again as another spell overcame him. Thank god it wasn't as bad as yesterday's._

_While holding down the ice pack, the nurse dug around in a table drawer for some painkillers of some sort to help the poor man out. She realised, with relief, that he still couldn't remember. It was better that way, she was told. No one would want to remember a life entailing a long history of abuse and rejection, and no one would want to withhold such a reputation as K once had. She'd heard about him, and could only feel compassion for him. The poor guy…no one loved him, and for no reason. "Hey, just don't worry about it. You'll probably be better off just starting fresh. After all, you're a completely different person after living here with us…"_

_His ebony eyes snapped open, glaring intensely at the nurse. What nerve she had, denying him the right to know who he is! His response, no matter how fiery the rage within him burned, was icy cold. "You don't know what it's like, do you? To live in darkness, the unknown. Without an identity. Everyone else around here knows exactly who they are; who their family is…they have people who care about them. Everyone except me. I'm just the test subject…the nameless guy in the background." He paused, looking from one eye to the other, judging her reaction. The rage, somehow, ended the pain in his head. As he sat up, he pulled the ice pack off his head and placed it aside. He continued, still as cool as before, only with a little more control inside. _

_"You were there when they did the preliminary tests. I'm just as intelligent as all of you; I'm made of the same stuff. I think the same way all of you do. I'm just as human as you are, Yuni. Humans need identity. They need to know what they are, where they come from. They need a future. Right now, I have nothing. No past. No future. And so far, I've not even had a present. My existence is meaningless." He didn't realise how pained his eyes looked to the young woman, but he did notice the tears springing up in her eyes. She was doing her darnedest to hold them back, too._

_Since she still said nothing, only listened, he felt compelled to continue. He needed to tell someone how he felt, because if he didn't, he felt his body would simply burn up in these terrible emotions that consumed him. Ever since he regained consciousness for the first time six years ago, he'd realised he was one of those people who bottled up their emotions, letting them eat him inside out. But no longer. No longer would this self-inflicted torture ruin what life he had…if it could be called a life. "Yuni, I need to know. It's killing me." He was going to say more…but he couldn't find the words to say. And he had them all thought out, too. Instead, he just sat in silence, waiting for her to respond._

_By now, her eyes were filled with hot tears, which had overflowed and began pouring down her cheeks. Despite herself, she emitted a sob and grasped his hand, closing her eyes, letting more tears spill down her pretty face. "I…I'm so sorry…I was told to stay quiet…for your own…own good, they said…" She choked on her sobs for a moment, but forced herself onward. "They're so cruel to you…I…I think you should know…but you won't like it…"_

_Long, slender fingers curled around the young woman's delicate hand, gently, but firmly. "Tell me, Yuni." It was not a request, it was an order, and a definite one at that._

_She sobbed again, biting her lower lip. For a few seconds she breathed deeply, regaining her composure, and forced herself to calm down. "Kazuya Mishima."_


	11. Now Your Perfect Sky Is Torn

A/N: I wrote the very first section of this story yonks ago, and only finished it today. After doing copious English exams at school, you might find my style is a tad different from the rest of the story, but I'm slowly working on upgrades.

PS: If you're a) A Kazuya fan, or b) a sensitive person, have a tissue nearby. A bit of heart-wrenching stuff coming up. Or at least, I think so….n_n

***

Jakunen Mirai, chapter 11

Kazuya sighed softly as the lift finally opened up and let him out. The office floors seemed not to change, despite the explosions the Tekkenshu set off before he left for the first time. Obviously, they'd been refurbished, but somehow they seemed all too familiar.

He stepped out, and headed purposely down the hall, past the rows of workstations and computer cubicles, to the very end, and stood before a tall, chrome finished door. The tatty, hospital white Venetian blinds covering the window on the door were drawn down and shut…as he had expected. Heh, so much for the office being 'as classy as it gets'. His memory prodded him; that receptionist was the master of sarcasm. Remembering the emails that had been sent back and forth earlier on in the week, he wasted no time in knocking on the door.

_'Mr Mishima, I am glad to hear that all is well. The perpetrator of the latest G-Corporation is thus far unknown to local authorities, but it certainly isn't the Tekkenshu, since they are now under your control. I can only hope that the criminals can be brought to justice before they make any further bold attempts on your life._

_Additionally, there has been investigation at the __Tokyo__ G-Corporation base on the incident. I suggest you see Yasashiku Jiro; I'm sure you already know him.'_

That last email ran through his head as he heard heavy, almost laboured footsteps trudge toward the office door. He looked down momentarily at himself; neatly dressed but not excessive. It wasn't exactly warm, so he had a long-sleeved, dark blue shirt, beneath a heavy leather overcoat, which hung at mid calf length. Since he'd come straight from his office, he still had a dark metallic-toned tie on, and of course black slacks to complete the businessman-like look. 

Finally, the footsteps ceased behind the door, and slowly, it creaked open. Behind it was a short, middle-aged Japanese man, dressed in casual business wear. From behind thick coke-bottle frames, he squinted up at the much taller man, then smiled. In fact, he laughed. He laughed like an old madman in a state of euphoria, and immediately clung to Kazuya's waist in joy. Of course, this wasn't the kind of reaction someone like Kazuya would expect, appreciate, or know how to handle.

***

_K-chan had sat there for the last five hours, staring into space. After the nurse had revealed his name, he'd returned to his room, letting his mind explore this new, two-word piece of information. At first it meant nothing to him, as usual, but he decided against returning to the computers. Instead, he threw himself down on his bed, stared at the ceiling, and pondered._

_It had taken an hour of running the word through his head, around his tongue and past his lips. At first it was nonsense, but slowly there came familiarity with the words. Eventually, he began to understand it, and associate himself with it. _

_Then came the tsunami._

_Sounds, distant sounds, of a child's scream echoed through his mind. After which, a loud strike, and a pained sob. His eyes fell shut, and images flew by, broadcast upon his closed lids. Blurred, half-animated memories started to flood back, some weak, some strong, but all over the top of each other. It was like a million old movies played one over the other, the soundtracks distorted, the images jagged and hazy. Most of the sounds were those of a man's yelling and screaming, and a child's cries of pain, begging mercy. Words hurtful beyond description echoed about in his skull; to the average person, they wrought sympathy to the receiver of the insults; but somehow, K-chan associated completely with every one of them. Violent, crimson and black images flashed from one to the other before his tightly shut eyes, like a slide show of Hell itself. For what seemed to be forever, the images and sounds haunted his very being. And ended abruptly with one simple phrase._

_'I will kill you, father.'_

_And he remembered who Kazuya Mishima was. _

***

Kazuya was still a little dazed from being grabbed like that, but he managed to extract himself from the grasp. "Jiro, this is important…"

The old man allowed him one last cackle of delight, then nodded and ushered Kazuya inside his office. "What can I help you with, son?"

Yeah, son, sure. Though he'd love to have been called that by someone who cared many years ago, for some reason, it didn't seem right that Jiro of all people, who was only ten or less years older than he, to be referring to him as that. Oh well, the old man always seemed to respect Kazuya as one of his creations. And honestly, he really didn't mind being babyfied by this man at times. At others, like now, it was just downright annoying. "I'm sure you heard about the attack on G-Corporation overseas. Apparently they were trying to attack me."

The old man raised a brow. "They were?"

Somehow, Kazuya managed a smirk and a sadistic laugh. Typical middle-age crisis lack-of-memory syndrome. "Uh yeah, it cost your side of the company several billion dollars in damages."

The other brow joined its partner high on Jiro's wrinkled forehead. "Oh…oh yes, the attack on the US head office." He seemed to get on target now. "They say you were targeted?" He laughed. "Wow, that sure is some mix-up."

Biting back his impatience, Kazuya sighed softly and sat back in the seat he was offered moments before. "Do elaborate…"

***

_'I will kill you, father.'_

_'You hurt me too much to forgive you.'_

_'I will kill you, father.'_

_'You never loved her, did you? You never loved my mother.'_

_'I will kill you, father.'_

_'Why did you hurt me so badly, daddy? What did I do wrong?'_

_'I will kill you, father.'_

_'Why do you love Lee more than me? I'm your son…'_

_'I will kill you…'_

_'What did I do wrong?'_

_'…will kill you…'_

_'Why did you hurt me?'_

_'…kill you…'_

_'Why don't you love me?'_

_'…father.'_

_The boyish voice had still not left his head after two whole hours, and one memory in particular seemed to stick more firmly than all the others put together. Standing at the base of a long, jagged cliff, was a young boy. His face was ripped and torn, with trickles of blood running down the soft, rounded cheeks, down his small, pointed chin, down his chest. Across ripped flesh that would kill most people with the agony it wrought. Bared, open flesh, torn across the small boy's chest. But within him, a new, powerful spirit burned with a brilliant flame. The spirit, almost engulfing his own, hid the pain, and gave the young, weakened body the ability to stand, to move, and to live. The only thoughts that filled the five-year-old's mind were revenge. Revenge for the pain. Revenge for the hatred. For the betrayal. Past the soft, swollen, gashed lips, slipped a mantra that would haunt him for the rest of his long, cold, empty life._

_"I will kill you, father."_

_Every thought was overshadowed by this one. _

_The mantra still haunted him._

***

"You're here, not in San Fran…"

Kazuya sighed again. "_I could have told you that!"_

Jiro chuckled happily. "No no, I know. The attackers, or err, terrorists you might call them…well, they were after another of our projects…" He paused a moment, eyeing a pewter pot and two mugs sitting on the edge of his table. "Care for coffee?"

"No, get on with it." His impatience was beginning to get the better of him, though he knew Jiro would tolerate it. He always had.

"Yes yes, of course of course." He poured himself coffee, and continued. "We've found someone similar to you. We're, you know, trying to get him back on his feet. He wasn't quite dead, just fatally injured. We didn't have the facilities here, thanks to those Tekkenshu that raided us a year back…you should know, you were there…" 

How could he forget? He'd KOed each one of them. He nodded, urging the old man on.

Jiro took a sip of the coffee, and placed it down. The warm liquid sloshed over the side of the cup, and splashed down onto some paperwork. "Oh dear, would you look at that…silly me…" Kazuya rolled his eyes as Jiro mopped it up with a paper towel. "Where was I? Oh yes. We have a young man over there; we're using the same technology on him as we did you. He was the target in the attack. I don't know if it was him specifically, or, err, if it was the technology. I can find out…"

That was all he needed to know. He stood up, startling the older man somewhat in the process. "No, don't bother; I'm on my way to find out myself." He couldn't place what it was that gave him the insatiable urge for investigation personally, but whatever it was, it was strong. He reached out, and shook Jiro's hand. "Thank you for all your help, you've been brilliant."

Jiro still seemed stunned, but shook the powerful hand anyway. "Yes, yes…good luck, K-cha…I mean, Kazuya…"

He couldn't help but smile at the use of his former nickname. The smile met Jiro's eyes as he exited the office. The old man waved. "Ja matta…"


	12. Phantasm

A/N: Once again, it's been a while. I dunno why I updated, prolly because Chibi-Sugarbaby wanted me to ^_^; This is a little different from previous chapters, but follows the same theme as one of the ones before. You'll see what I mean. 

Expect more in the future, I guess.

***

Jakunen Mirai, Chapter 12

***

  
  


"What do you mean, he's not in?! He's the Big Boss!" Sheree threw her hands up in the air in dismay, then thrust her head into them when her elbows returned to the tabletop.

Yuki rolled her eyes and petted her friend's shoulder. "Hey don't worry. There'll be other reports you'll get to deliver to him personally…"  
  
She jumped in on top of her. "No there won't, this was a special event; there is no way in Hell I'll be able to do it again, since I'm not his secretary!" By now she'd openly admitted to her friends that she thought he was 'very handsome for an old guy', and it was almost blatantly obvious that she wanted to be able to make contact with him again, even if it was just for a good ogle. 

"Look, just calm down, okay? He works here just like everyone else. It's not like you'll never see him again…"

A frustrated growl escaped the exasperated blonde's lips. "Yeah, but from a distance. I like to be noticed, ya know?"

"How can you help it in here?" Yuki smirked. "You're the only white person around!"

Of course, how could she forget? "You have a point." Slowly, she brought herself back down to Earth. "I'm good, I'm calm…" A sharp inhalation, then a slow breath out, and she was alright. "I'll just have it put on his desk. You're right, I will see him around again…"

***  
  


He'd been sitting on the small suitcase on his bed for a minute or so now…it didn't look like it was going to explode open again, at least for now.

He was a light traveller, and never found the need for a few massive suitcases for a business trip, but since he was going to be away for an indefinite period of time, he'd packed a few more clothes than usual. And the suitcase didn't like it. In fact, it wanted to spit half of it out on the floor. He wouldn't let it, though. As he locked it, still sitting on it, he began to wonder whether the clasps would compete well with his entire 75kgs in holding the case together. Somehow, he doubted it.

Now for the moment of truth. He stood up, and hopped off the bed, then looked back at the case behind him. Nope, no explosion. Good, it all fitted inside.

Satisfied that his packing had been achieved, Kazuya yawned into the palm of his hand, and began taking off the day's used clothing. As usual, it was dumped on top of that handy chair beside the bathroom…its contents were regularly shifted to the washing machine, of course. With that task too out of the way, he disappeared into the bathroom to take a shower.

A quarter of an hour later, dressed in nothing but a pair of satin boxers, he came back out into his bedroom, dumped the suitcase on the floor, and slipped beneath the covers of his bed. Even though it was not quite eleven at night, he felt the need for an early sleep, since he had to leave for the airport in six hours. That meant five and a half hours sleep…more than he usually got, admittedly, but it was better than nothing.

It was unusual for sleep to come so quickly for him. Perhaps it was the exhausting day he'd had; whatever it was, within five minutes of turning the light off, he was asleep; dreamless, peaceful, silent sleep.

***  
  
She'd made it this far, she might as well go the whole way.

Sheree had been working a late shift, damn her boss, and with it finally over with, she realised that it was after eleven at night. The whole remainder of the day she'd been dying to at least try and see him, and the news of a late shift had almost been enough for her to break some precious family jewels. So, after her shift ended, she decided to go 'exploring' again.

At this point, she'd found herself standing just behind his door, unable to pluck up the courage to repeat her adventure from several weeks ago. But after standing there for a few minutes, she began to hear the sound of light snores; beneath the door, no light emanated – there was darkness inside.

_Aw, what the heck,_ she told herself, _might as well leap into the deep end. Logic escaped her, and slowly, surely, she opened the door a few inches, and slipped inside._

She saw him lying pretty much the same way as he had been the first time she made this expedition. The covers had been kicked off, but were tangled around his feet, and he was face up, sprawled generously across the mattress. After watching for a while, Sheree realised he was deep enough in sleep to not notice her presence. 

A moment later, she took the initiative to step closer. The dim light from the hall illuminated the room ever so slightly; of course, enough for her to become mesmerised by the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his powerful chest. Yes, he definitely had the body of a fighter.

Against her better judgement, one hand slipped down, and rested against the warm, smooth flesh of his chest. By now she'd learned he was nearly fifty years old; in fact, it was only another month before his birthday. He didn't look his age. Not by a long shot. His face was still youthful to an extent, and there was not a wrinkle present on him anywhere. And his body was still in fantastic shape. She could have kept her hand there all night; the feel of his skin was more than delightful...and she wished for a moment that he was hers.

He breathed deeper a moment, and, startled, she raised her hand back, holding it to her chest in fright. It took her a few seconds to realise it was safe, once he settled down again. It was that sudden reminder of how ferocious, how dangerous this man was that brought a sensual shiver crashing through her veins; she couldn't resist the violent urge to come closer to him again. She leaned down just a little way; the smell of mild soap hit her nose, but along with that was a definite masculine smell…a mixture of sweat, possibly, and his own personal smell. It made her feel distinctly…turned on.

One of her thumbs ran over the scar across one cheek. His skin was warm and soft, though he'd obviously not bothered with shaving before going straight to sleep. The inevitable happened swiftly; she began to lose control of her hand. Slowly, she began to trace her fingers over his other cheek and along his jaw line, through the thick black hair above, then a single finger over one brow, and down the middle of his nose. He was a dangerous beauty; and it was his danger that made him so sexy in her opinion.

Before she knew what she was doing, the hand travelled lightly down his neck, and back down to his chest again. Another good point she noted was that he had a distinct natural lack of body hair…unlike all the men she'd messed around with in England; you had to bring out the hedge clippers just to find a nipple. His own fairly dark nipples stood out in the cool evening air, but she had gathered her wits about her before she had the chance to lose control and pinch them. She knew such an act would undoubtedly wake him…which was something she didn't want to happen. She forced herself to peel away from him after running her hand down past his stomach, over his belly-button, then back up to just lightly touch one of those delicious-looking nipples. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and even with that light touch, he shifted.

Her heart leapt up into her throat, and, nearly panic-stricken, she hastily but silently left the room, shutting the door behind her soundlessly. This time she successfully made her way to her car parked in the main building's basement without having to play hide-and-seek, and took of home. Her previous act left her with her heart racing and her palms sweaty, but at least she had sated her curiosity.

***  
  
What had been a dreamless sleep had decided to throw him into one of the most interesting phantasms he'd had in years. His unconscious mind ran illusions of a gentle, feminine hand running up and down his torso, the light sensations failing to tickle him, but instead, only make him feel wonderful and warm all over. His face, so often neglected – by himself most of all – immediately relaxed beneath the gentle touch of these mysterious hands.

Immediately, his resting mind projected images of his former love, the light of his life – Jun Kazama – into the place of the mystery hands. He took a deeper breath, willing her on…he was hers, and hers alone…forever. He was now her property, and he wanted her to do whatever she desired to him; whatever it was she had in mind, he would enjoy it.

Oh how he wanted to reach out and touch her, feel her, taste her…but he couldn't move. Yet, he didn't mind. She was his angel, and just her mere presence lifted every ounce of doubt, hate and sadness from his life. 

The feeling of her hand touching his chest in its most sensitive place made him jump, and made him want to moan with delight…but no sound came, his body made no movement. 

Then everything stopped.

Kazuya sat up suddenly, his peaceful dream shattered to smithereens for some bizarre reason. He glanced about in the darkness, but saw nothing. He heard nothing. But somehow, he felt a mingling presence. After a moment, he realised he could still feel the faint tingles of someone's fingers upon his skin; his skin was covered in goose bumps, his nipples were rock hard and standing out into the night – that was definitely unusual – and he could tell, without even checking, that he was at least partially excited.

Mildly disappointed, he put it down to the bizarre dream he'd just had. Though, he couldn't place why he felt the remnants of the invisible trails someone's hands had wrought upon him.

And he couldn't figure out why he could distinctly smell female perfume in the room.


	13. Tears

A/N: Yay, I'm on holiday! I found the motivation to update the second half of this chapter…since I only wrote the first two paragraphs ages ago…and here it is.

Additional: Do NOT threaten me with large metal objects when you come across the ending! I will beat you with a spork and tell you to wait in silence / However, if you ask me to continue nicely, loudly, hastily, whatever…I shall ) Just do NOT threaten me with large metal objects!

Yes, I am in a weird mood. Blame the candy.

***  
Jakunen Mirai, chapter 13

***

The large, comfortable business-class seat on the aeroplane wasn't doing much to settle his anxiety. He just couldn't relax at the moment. Last night's confusion, what lay ahead of him in the near future – it had all mounted up to bring him into a turmoil-filled state of mind. Nothing would calm him down – though he looked perfectly relaxed outwardly – since his mind was spinning around in circles madly.

It had been a hectic day. A three hour flight from Tokyo to some airport he'd never heard of before – for a transfer to another airline – where his baggage managed to get lost. It was another hour before they found it, and he was nearly late for the next flight. Another four hours before he had to stop over at another airport, and another change of airlines. He'd finally ended up on a flight to San Francisco, aboard a Singapore Airlines Boeing 777, in business-class. And after all of the exhaustion of flying, changing over, rushing about the airports like a madman…he still wasn't tired.

For a while, he tried listening to the in-flight music program, and reading the few magazines supplied…he even tried sleeping, but it still didn't calm him down. He was still just a little too active for his own good. He'd just have to sit through the next few hours in the air, and try to contain his desperation to solve the mysteries that hung in the air around him, tormenting him.

***  
  
Thankfully it was night time when he arrived in San Francisco, because he was finally beginning to get very tired. It had been, after all, quite a long day, and Tokyo was sixteen hours ahead of here, so he found himself being rather jetlagged. 

After tossing down his suitcase at the end of the bed and getting his suit off, he crashed down on the hotel bed, killed the lights, and fell asleep without a second thought. His mind could spin as much as it wanted…he was tired enough to just sleep now.

***  
  
_It had been a long time since he'd used a glass of anything strong to console himself; now, here he was, sitting by the window in his bedroom, with a small glass of vodka in his hand…mixed with something else, no doubt, since he never liked the hot, burning sensation of strong liqueur. _

_The streets below him crawled with life. It was a lovely day outside. It was a pity he hadn't been outside since he fought his father so many years ago, on that fateful day – quite frankly, he didn't really want to remind himself of it, now that he could remember. _

_Since he had begun to remember his entire past a week ago, he'd quickly grown depressed and jaded. Most of the people around the place had noticed how he'd aged a few years in not even a week. It seemed he was always tired, pale and bleak-tempered. Even the most annoying accomplices couldn't manage to rile him up. And this was the second glass of spirits he'd ever had – up until now, he'd always refused any form of alcohol, with respect to what it would do to his fighter's body. _

_But now, he didn't give a damn. He just wanted to numb his mind and make it shut up. Every one of the memories flooded back to him, but not in the regular faded, disjointed ways memories should do; he felt as if he was re-living every single nightmare over and over again. _

_He knew that people in the G-Corporation cared for him. In fact, he even knew a few of the women who'd become his silent admirers…but with these terrible, frigid memories, he felt as alone and rejected as any human could in this harsh world. The self-respect and friendliness had been lost, it had been washed out by the intensity of the hatred his father had dished him in the past._

_After a moment he swallowed what was left in the glass and sat back against the wall his bed sat beside, watching the clouds drift across the sky lazily, as if nothing was wrong. Oh, how he'd love to shoot them out of the sky and replace them with black storm clouds to match his mood. The alcohol was slowly numbing his brain and turning those hideous images into pools of goo within his mind. Good, just the way he wanted it._

***  
  
Well, this place was anything but familiar.

Even Kazuya himself was having difficulty keeping pace with the tall, lanky American woman who swiftly led him through the inner halls of G-Corporation's San Francisco branch. She was a good three inches taller than him, the poor woman, and she seemed to love walking as fast as her long legs could take her. He was almost running alongside her. Not that he would soon become short of breath; he was a fighter after all, and it would take more than that to wear him down.

Eventually they got to the place they were heading for; another lab within the building. From there she left him with the receptionist at the front, and scooted back to wherever she came from. He shook his head, watching her as she zoomed away, then turned his attention to the rather…large…woman sitting at the smooth, artistically curved metallic table, behind a computer screen.

She smiled with a billion huge, shiny white teeth. "Well hello there, gorgeous…how can I help you?"

Despite himself, a slight pinkness rose across the tops of his cheeks when he realised it was _he that she was referring to. "I'm Kazuya Mishima – I believe someone here has something to show me."_

For a moment, she tapped away at her computer…then her eyebrows both shot up in the air when she found what she was looking for. "You're the CEO of the Mishima Zaibatsu…oh yes, of course…follow me, I'll take you right there…"

She hopped down from her seat and waddled through an open door, and down the hallway. Kazuya followed, unable to stop his curiosity from getting the better of him. How could such a poor soul even walk without breaking her ankles? She would have barely been five foot, if that at all, and she was so large that she could barely even perform her slow, awkward waddle down the hall. There was so much variation in this environment, especially amongst women. It was an endless fascination to him for reasons beyond his knowledge.

The woman babbled incessantly the whole trip down the corridor – mostly about pointless, random gossip within the complex. If not that, she talked about herself. But he humoured her; she was obviously very lonely sitting at that desk all day if she was going to warble away to someone she didn't know. He knew the feeling too…not being what people expect of you, and thus paying for it with your sanity, living your days alone. As she chattered away, he smiled and nodded at appropriate times, offering her a look of complete attention. It was the polite thing to do, after all.

Eventually, at the slow pace they were working at, they passed through two white, double-hinged doors; at this point, his nostrils were assaulted by the strong, overpowering scent of hospital disinfectant. He wrinkled his nose for a few seconds, then tried to ignore the dizzifying smell. 

***  
  
_After a while, Kazuya decided he would not let himself succumb to a drunken depression for the rest of his life. After a month of feeling sorry for himself and ignoring everyone who tried to comfort him, he finally remembered his old passions, his old strengths – his true old self. His inner energy would not allow him to do nothing with himself. The urge to do something with himself became intolerable eventually; after no more than a second's thought, he jumped up off the bed he'd restricted himself to for most of the time he'd been regaining his memories, and dug around in his wardrobe._

_Through the scarcely lined rack within the wardrobe, and the barely filled clothes drawers, he finally found a pair of Gi pants he'd never used. The _only_ pair of Gi pants in the whole damn wardrobe. The familiar feel of the thick, sturdy fabric brought an extremely rare smile to his lips…lately, those muscles had been so neglected he was surprised they remembered how to do it – smile. Surprisingly, he actually found a belt too – and with the correct rank on it too. Black, with a silver line running down both sides of it. The highest rank possible in Mishima Karate – after beating the greatest master alive of the art, one would become that very rank; the best. He glanced down at the Gi pants again. They were white like the ones he'd grown so fond of, only the bottoms weren't ripped and tattered, and there was a bizarre, brightly coloured design down the right leg. It didn't bother him however. He simply changed into the clothes, and prepared for the first good training match in seven years of doing nothing._

_After finding the appropriate footwear, a towel, and gloves similar to the ones he used to wear, he headed out of his room and down the hall to the corporation's staff and patient gymnasium. Though it was reasonably quiet within – a few people throwing weights around, one or two using treadmills by the front window of the modern, spacious facility – there was certainly quite a lot of noise produced when he showed himself, finally, after sitting alone and miserable in his room._

_The fact that he was naked-chested and still finely toned was the source of the cat-calls from the women, and the loud, cheerful comments about him finally being back and looking much better came from the guys, mostly those he was already familiar with. A slight, very subtle smile crossed his lips as he threw his towel down beside the mirror that spanned the entire wall the weights resided by. He passed by that young nurse that first broke the news to him, Yuni, who was sitting on a large, white ball with a small dumbbell in each hand. _

_"Glad to see you're looking a bit brighter today…"_

_He nodded, and began to warm up just a few metres away from her. The feeling of his muscles being stretched out and warmed up once more, just like old times, seemed to make the terrible memories fade, even just for a moment – allowing the good memories to flood forth. "I decided it wasn't worth it sitting alone and feeling sorry for myself for the rest of my life." After a moment, to the amusement of most of the females in the room, he displayed, unintentionally, just how flexible his legs were. Most of the men winced, wondering how he could do some of those stretches without going high-pitched and squeaky-voiced. "Besides, now that I remember how to fight, I might as well train myself up for it again."_

_She grinned and watched him, trying not to drool. Yes indeed, he certainly had the body of a sex god, even if the skin covering it was worn and scarred._

***

The receptionist bit him a warm goodbye then left him in the care of yet another official, who led him onward into what seemed to be a hospital ward. They passed by many a sickbed with an ill or injured human lying beneath the stark white hospital linen, or perhaps being treated by blue-clad nurses here and there.

Finally, at the end of the long, sterile ward, an occupied bed took his interest. In fact, it was the one he was being led toward. 

The official held open his hand and gestured toward the bed; Kazuya stepped forward, obeying the silent direction, and looked down upon whoever it was tucked firmly into the sheets. The body was clearly that of a muscular young man, but a great thick mop of ebony, silky hair disguised his face. One of Kazuya's slender hands reached down and brushed aside the thick hair from the youth's face…

…his heart stopped in his chest. The whole world went silent against his ears as the colour drained from his face.

It was…

It was…


	14. Discovery

A/N: Back from holiday, and finished fighting off an issue with an apparent hacker…I hope. Someone fouled around with my email account and requested my FF.net password. So, I'm asking, begging, pleading…anyone…who has seen me do anything on this site in the last few days, please tell me…because it wasn't me. I've been off the net for 8 days. So there.

This next chapter may get a little soppy and such. And no, it's not going to go like Crimson with all the love and such. Everyone is going to stay nice and cold for now ^_^;

***

_Images of the last moments flew before his eyes in a haze, a crimson haze, the hatred and violence so thick, so choking, he could barely stand it a second longer. Three rivals, all in one place, all affirming that very rivalry with ravenous passion, starving for each other's blood. The worst part of it was that they were all family._

_He took a swipe at the old man, that old bastard, but missed. The old man was fast. Too fast. A second later, he felt a fist driving into his stomach. He couldn't breathe. As he collapsed to the ground, a choked, deep moan escaped his lips…and he crumpled to the wooden floor, clutching his stomach with all his might. He felt as though he'd die._

_Not surprisingly, the battle continued on without him, between the other two. After all, though they were all out for 'revenge', two had made a very, very temporary alliance for the sole purpose of eliminating the old man. His ally was doing his job, using moves none but he had seen himself, keeping the old man on his toes. It seemed Heihachi was the only one that hadn't been training up._

_Slowly, surely, the pain ebbed, and he found his breath. While the two were distracted, he rose to his feet, only barely being able to stay on both feet – let alone stand tall and straight – and waited for an opportunity to leap in once more._

_The battle raged on for seemingly eternity – violent, bloodthirsty attacks being launched from one to another…and even between the two allies. They were attempting to wear each other down, though one was making a more concerted effort than the other. It was clear who was more favourable of the alliance._

_However, it was even clearer who was the best fighter of them all. The old man, the two had feared, was strong. But he wasn't strong enough; in fact, the father-son alliance was almost unnecessary. One warrior was just so much faster, stronger, more agile than the others, and he was fighting alone. _

_By now, the other had been weakened by the battle. The old man had focussed on him rather than his ally. He knew he was weaker, and planned to pick him out of the foray, to give himself a chance. And it had worked._

_Then, the lights went out._

_The last thing he could remember was a brutal, searing attack hitting him in the stomach, the cold, hard floor rushing up toward him, hitting him, smattering him across itself, and the sound of his own scream._

***  
  
And now here he was. Through the blackness, he could hear murmurs about him, the faint bleeping and whining of hospital equipment, the scuffle of shoes upon a linoleum floor. He heard his name in a whisper. His eyes did not want to open.

However, he forced them, and tried to force the stench of disinfectant from his nose. The image that met his eyes was blurry; it seemed there was nothing but white - for a moment – then a darker patch entered his field of vision. The blurriness faded, sharpened; the black blob became a face. He gasped.

The words didn't want to come. His lips fumbled with them, forced them from the tip of his tongue, but still they got lost in the wilderness of confusion, surprise, hatred, and bafflement.

Finally, they came, as the face before him relaxed. There was still, however, surprise evident in the older male's face, laced with fear and wonder alike. Those two scars, one across each cheek, were so startlingly familiar that he didn't even have to think of the name before it passed his lips, finally, and entered the sterile atmosphere of the hospital ward with a deep whisper.

"Father?"

The older man's expression softened. "Jin."

His heart fluttered in his chest. He was expecting a cold reception from the man as soon as he laid eyes on him, but the way his name came, the way it was said – though it seemed emotionless, he could tell, from past experience with Kazuya's manner, that it was a warm, almost caring welcome back into the world of the living. Though in the recent past he'd thought of nothing but revenge for this man, his own father…it now seemed he was indeed the latter…more of a father than an opponent to destroy. It was the look in his obsidian eyes that gave the silent, restrained affection away. The look was too relieved, too tender, too proud…to be anything but a father's expression at discovering his son to still be alive. 

Jin remembered the alliance the two had forged in an effort to eliminate Heihachi. By now, he figured, Kazuya was the CEO of the Zaibatsu. He was in hospital after all…he was obviously knocked out or something to that effect. He was still alive…if Kazuya was the evil man Heihachi had made him out to be, then he would be the only Mishima alive today. Yet Jin, too, was alive and fairly well.

He finally took the initiative to sit up and ask the big question:

"Where am I? What happened?"

Kazuya stood back, resting one hand on the edge of Jin's bed. "You're in G-Corporation's San Francisco med-lab. As for what happened, that's a much longer story."

Jin winced as he discovered how weak his muscles had become. Just how long had he been lying on this bed doing nothing? "Tell it."

Kazuya too came close to wincing at the cold demand. So far, there had been no affection from the boy. Why was he wasting his time with someone who wouldn't even give him the time of day? Because he is all he has left, that's why. He spared no more wasted time thinking about it, he simply began to tell Jin what happened, and why he was here, as briefly as he could.

"The fight that ensued between the two of us and Heihachi was more brutal than you'd imagine. You've been here for the last six months, barely alive, in a comatose state – the old bastard did you some serious damage. He himself is long gone. I won the Zaibatsu by default, since there was no one else to take it." He paused, waiting for what little he'd told to sink in. "I thought I was the only one alive. I thought you were lost in that battle too, along with the Old Man…until I found you here."

He shifted beneath the covers slightly…there were all sorts of tubes attached to him…including one where no tube had gone before. He blushed when he realised it was there…down south. "If I've been out for six months…half a damn year…then why didn't you know sooner?" He sounded vaguely disappointed. 

The older man sighed softly and leaned against the bed a little more. "They only just realised who you were. Up until a week ago or so, you were just another John Doe, since you have hardy any records of existence at all. When they discovered who you where, this base was actually attacked by terrorists, since they either discovered you were related to me or had confused the two of us – there are those who wish me dead almost as much as Heihachi did. I only heard about it when someone had mistaken you for me, and was surprised to find me still alive and nowhere near America."

_Great,_ Jin thought, _I've missed out on half a year of life and twice as much action as that…_

Before either of them could continue, Jin found himself completely engulfed by hospital staff, rushing toward him, surrounding the bed, and tinkering with him endlessly. They asked him a million times how he felt whilst disconnecting him from the many cords, contraptions and tubes that tied him to the bed. Kazuya was literally pushed aside and left standing, watching in bewilderment from a distance.

"Whoa, don't go down…hey, that's not yours…hey!" Jin's startled voice rose over the din of nurses and doctors and their incessant babbles…someone had removed the catheter from down 'there'. 

This fussing continued for at least another half an hour, during which Kazuya had found himself a seat only a little way away from the action, but far enough to keep himself out of the way. Finally, the last nurse scampered off, leaving Jin sitting beneath a fresh layer of linen, dressed in a fresh set of blue hospital standard-edition…pyjamas.

Kazuya snickered only barely audibly at the sight, and Jin blushed. He still felt a little violated after that young nurse had extracted that pipe from a very, very private region. He sighed. "Apparently I'm going to be just fine, and I'm free to go."

"That's good to hear."

He felt a little disappointed, though he knew he should have been. He'd wanted a less emotional response for that one…okay, hell, he could have done with at least a hug or a smile…but he knew he wouldn't get it from him. Oh how he wanted a real father.

"I don't know where I'm going to go…"

Kazuya swung one leg over the other casually and leaned back in the rickety little chair he'd acquired. "Well, you could always go back to Brisbane. You do have an apartment back there after all. Then again, you could stay here…though it'll be hell trying to get a visa for America. You can go anywhere you want, really. Even back home to Japan…"

He shrugged. "I don't know about Japan. It brings back too many memories. Besides…I don't know if my mother's home is still there…"

With that hint of rejection, and the impatient iciness in Jin's voice, Kazuya got the idea. He stood, and prepared to leave. "Well, wherever you go, don't forget that I'll always have a door open to you…"

What was he thinking? Kazuya _was_ a real father! He was simply reacting to the definite coldness in Jin's veneer. Suddenly, it came clear to him. As he watched his father go, he realised the true nature of their family. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it earlier. Why hadn't he trusted his mother's instinct? Heihachi had been telling lies, black lies, when he'd told him of how evil and pathetic Kazuya was. Mother had never spoken of him, because it hurt her. She kept those old photos hidden away…because it hurt her. It hurt her to know that she couldn't save him. Kazuya had 'died' at the hands of his own father, the one that had beaten and betrayed him. It didn't even take an idiot to imagine that Kazuya had led a childhood of abuse and neglect – and Jun had saved him. She loved him. That's why she cried herself to sleep when Jin was so young. Because she didn't really save him. Not entirely. She failed, because he was dead. 

Suddenly, Jin felt guilty…so very guilty. It was so obvious now. Since he'd had such a terrible childhood, all Kazuya wanted to do was make sure his only son didn't have the same experience. He didn't know how to be a 'real' father, a 'good' father – but he was willing to try. If Jin's original prediction had been right – that he wanted his only son dead – then why was he still alive? And why did Kazuya invite him home? 

He'd thought all along that it was the Mishima clan that was evil…but no, it was really just Heihachi. His coldness toward his father had been completely unnecessary. 

No, he would not go back to Brisbane. He would go back to Tokyo. He would go home. 

He slipped out of the covers and onto the cold floor of the hospital. Ack…no…first he'd train. He could barely walk his muscles had grown so weak. His first order of business was to arrange to go back to Brisbane to gather his belongings…then he would go back to Japan. After all…what else was there to do? He was no longer hiding from Heihachi; he was no longer mourning his mother's death. He had something to do…put out the fire on a few brand new bridges.


	15. A Blessed Day

A/N: Yayness. I am sitting here with a large mug of lemon & honey drink, snack sushi, and a box of tissues...I have a cold T_T; Since there's little else I can do, I shall proliferate my already expanding list of chapters amongst all stories...whee. I also have my statistics assignments handed in, so that means...MORE STORY! ^_^; 

I almost forgot about this one too. Eh well, soon enough it shall end...maybe another six chapters or so, maybe more...since it is actually going to lead onto a rather bizarre sequel. You shall be surprised, I assure you ~_^

Btw...I honestly can't remember what I called Sheree, as far as family names go. I can't find any reference to it anyhow o.@; So I'll make it up o.x; if anyone can find what it's meant to be, if I've written it before...tell me so I can personally kick my ass and re-upload D

***  
  
The last four weeks had been hectic for Sheree and her comrades. The Zaibatsu had just bought over another minor company – engineering, of all things – and there were so many things to do, people to meet...not even considering the new employees from the old company!

However, somehow, Sheree had found some spare time to once again tempt fate, and explore the mansion. She knew Kazuya's main office was on the fourth storey of the building, though he'd, of late, taken to working in the main building more often than his private office. For some reason, as much as she knew it might kill her, she had to see him again. There was more than the simple reason of the need to sate her desire this time; a special day had arrived. August the first.

Her friends had chipped in a small amount of money each, along with members of the Zaibatsu staff; in total, she'd collected a total of over five hundred dollars. Unanimously, the decision had been made as to what their money would be spent on...

Sheree had the honour of delivering it bestowed upon her, since most by now had come to realise her infatuation with a certain someone...though none knew the extent of it. They'd put it down to mere lust for danger. Her colleagues had tried to convince her to leave it in the office on the upper floors of the main building, but no...she wanted to put in the office in the mansion!

Again, she re-read the card attached to the small box – which was delicately wrapped in shiny red paper – written lovingly in perfect-looking kanji. 

            _For all you've done for this company_

_            From the company you have amongst your friends_

_            For a certain special day you've earned_

_            From your admirers and followers_

_            Happy Birthday Kazuya Mishima._

It was short, sweet...maybe even a little soppy...but Yuki had so badly wanted to write the note on the small golden card. Softening at the dedication and kindness of the young Japanese woman, everyone relented and had let her write it. 

And now here she was, on the fourth floor of the mansion, outside the Boss's office. The door was half open, and there was no one inside. Cautiously, since this time no doubt he wasn't asleep, Sheree crept inside and placed the package down silently on the massive mahogany desk, and snuck back out again. The door remained unmoved the entire time.

Tucking her thin wad of paper under her arm, Sheree turned and headed silently out toward the back door of the mansion...she needed to get back to work. In the distance, she could have sworn she heard a door click shut...she froze.

No sound.

She thought she was going mad for a moment, but swiftly moved on...she didn't want to get caught in here. Down the last fight of stairs she descended, and skittered across the floor toward the door.

And promptly crashed into something.

Or someone.

With a loud rustling of paper being sent flying everywhere, she and the one she smashed into fell to the ground with equally loud thuds. For a moment she saw stars, but felt warm, smooth, but intensely powerful fingers grasp her arm around the wrist.

Then there was that magically deep rumble of a voice. "Ms Brown...gomen nasai, I didn't see you until it was too late..." Before she could even _think of responding, she was dragged to her feet by an unnaturally strong hand._

She glanced up to see the Boss himself, looking ever so slightly worried. Her heart froze for a moment...she'd been caught!

After letting her go, he arched a brow in response to the prolonged silence. "Ms Brown...are you alright?" 

She gulped, and nodded frantically for a moment. "Yes yes, of course sir; I'm so sorry, I'm so clumsy..." On the verge of panic, she crouched down, frenetically grabbing at the papers lying down next to her – there were others on the ground, but she assumed the ones closest to her were hers. Without a second thought, she skittered out of the building, only wishing her high-heeled-clad feet would carry her at least twice as fast. With her hands down in front of her, grasping the papers firmly, she dashed out, barely able to restrain the panicked squeal that wanted to come.

Kazuya watched her leave in post-haste with one brow raised high on his forehead. Strange girl. After a moment he bent down and grabbed his papers from the ground, then made his way upstairs to gather a few more reports...then it was back over to the main centre for some more work.

Once he was inside his office, he sat down heavily in his leather chair, letting out a heavy, exhausted sigh as he did so. He felt like he weighed a thousand kilograms – despite the fact that he weighed little over seventy in reality. Something sparkling in the golden sunlight caught his eye. For the moment he threw down the documentation to see what it was...it turned out to be a little box, wrapped flawlessly in red wrapping paper...with a little golden card dangling from it.

Curiously, he reached out and picked it up, examining the small package superficially. The card seemed more important for the moment...he grasped it between two slender fingers, and read the message. 

It took a few seconds of re-reading it for him to realise exactly what it meant – it was his birthday? Oh yes, August the 1st. He'd forgotten that particular day...after all, it was his mother that allowed him to celebrate that particular day – after that, his father made sure he regretted it. After all it was the day he had tarnished this world with his presence, was it not?

After a moment, a small, warm smile crept across his face. Someone knew...and cared. He felt...almost loved. Well, appreciated would do. Placing the card down on his desk, he then tended to the carefully wrapped gift...it was such a small box, whatever was inside was no doubt just a small token of someone's respect. Though, someone had put a lot of effort into wrapping it, so he gave it proper attention in carefully unwrapping it, so as not to tear the paper. 

Within the confines of the delicate red paper was a box...not surprisingly. It was a simple white cardboard box of course. Within it, so he discovered, was an item enough to make even him gasp with shock.

A gold-banded Rolex watch was sitting inside the box! He knew that these things never come cheap...

For a while, he sat and examined the expensive accessory...yes, it was definitely a pricey one to say the least...and absolutely beautiful; it would go perfectly with his favourite suit. Thoughtfully, whoever bought it knew his taste – he didn't like to appear as wealthy as he was. The watch, likewise, was simple enough to pass as something an average person might stretch to afford – without looking ridiculous with his normal attire. 

Reality set back in when he saw his papers sitting on the desk, ignored. The gift and the kindles and generosity that came with it stuck in his mind however, and he put the watch around his left wrist almost ceremoniously as he reached for the dreaded return to work.

After picking up the papers, he sat back to read them...only they weren't saying what he wanted them to. 

Actually, they were part of a report he had asked to have handed to him tomorrow...the last one proved to be a personal email – not addressed to him. They were Sheree's documents! She'd obviously grabbed the wrong ones before. Without reading further, he stood and headed swiftly back to the main office. He couldn't continue today without the information contained on those documents Sheree grabbed...

***  
  
Yuki rolled her eyes as she passed by Sheree, babbling madly to the poor man at the photocopier. That woman was on a permanent caffeine high, it seemed. She had just come back from a much deserved afternoon break, and was reluctant to get back to work...but she was running late for her next shift. So, in the style so common now within the Zaibatsu, she artfully scampered back to her cubicle nearby...

...only to end up plummeting into Kazuya, who was performing a similar task.

Yuki stumbled backward, and fell against someone's bulkhead with a sizeable thump. Kazuya, on the other hand, had nothing to fall against but the floor...which is where he invariably ended up sitting.

As the Mishima Zaibatsu's CEO tumbled to the ground, a few shrieked in shock and horror, others simply dashed behind something to watch without ending up in the line of fire themselves. Kazuya himself found himself sitting on the floor, dazed to say the least. Blinking and wide-eyed, he glanced over at Yuki, who was obviously appalled by the whole situation. After a few seconds of hyperventilation, she dashed over to him, on the verge of sobbing, and pulled him up by the arm. He complied, dusting himself off.

She immediately started to bombard him with panicked apologies; he tried to silence her with a few words assuring her he was fine. After readjusting his coat, he picked up Yuki's files and handed them to her. As he did, he couldn't help but notice how much she was smiling. He perked a brow at this occurrence.

"You found the watch..." She was beaming with pride.

He returned the smile with one of his own small, ambiguous smirks. "Yes...someone has a better memory than I do...I had completely forgotten what day it was..." He glanced down at the golden accessory, and smiled just a little more...enough for everyone to notice it and recognise it as a smile. "Someone has a very kind and generous heart...this is the first gift I've had since I can remember..."

More than one face in the building was glowing at this point...no one had expected recognition for their gift...let alone an indirect thanks. Kazuya's ebony eyes glanced up at Sheree, who had to bite her fingers so she didn't squeal for joy. He smirked somewhat. "At least now I know what you were doing inside the mansion..."

She blushed beet-red, giggled, and hid behind a bulkhead in response.

Kazuya pulled his sleeve back down over his birthday gift, smiled ever so slightly, and followed Sheree behind that bulkhead...she shrieked slightly when she turned on the chair to see him standing over her, leaning casually against the bulkhead beside her. "Ms Brown, I do believe you have some of my reports..."

For a moment she looked absolutely horrified, but then she remembered. "Oh! Oh..." She immediately took off toward her cubicle and collected the papers she snatched from the mansion's floor, and handed them to her boss without a second's hesitation. In return, he handed her the papers that belonged to her. With nothing more than a nod, he looked down at his documents, pleased that he had the right ones finally, and that they were all there.

He paused. "By the way, I didn't read your email, you needn't worry..." Well that wasn't entirely true...he read the first line, realised it wasn't for him, and placed it aside. She grinned shyly, and skittered off toward her own mini-office.

***  
  
It was finally time to settle down for the evening, after a solid twelve hours working. Kazuya had decided to pack up for the day, finally, at nine in the evening, and sit in whatever was comfortable, on the couch, admiring the generous gift he was given by his staff. He was still feeling the thrill he felt when he first saw the package, what it was, and who it was from. 

Dressed in the day's slacks, a singlet, and a pair of socks, he felt decidedly sloppy – but it was no matter, there was no one around to tell him to dress properly. This was _his house, after all._

Then, there was a knock at the front door. He glanced up, both brows raised. Now how could someone possibly get through the security at the front gate at this hour? Must've been someone from way back when who still had a pass or something ridiculous. Since there was no-one home but him, he got up and headed for the door. He wasn't obscenely undressed, so he needn't fuss about getting more clothes on...he simply went to the door and opened it. No need for the usual rituals of the intercom for ID and all.

When he pulled the huge, heavy front door open, he thought his heart would cease beating right there and then.

It was Jin!


	16. The Future Ain't So Dark

A/N: Back to this fic again, folks. Hate to say it, but after almost a year in its running, it's nearly over. Yes, it's nearly finished! A few more chapters, then I'm ending it. I may expand at times, but I want to move on to the sequel...mwaha. And since I don't want to be too much of a match-maker...I shall reinstate this story's status as partially angst.

***

Jin's face remained stoic as he let the heavy bag drop down beside his feet...Kazuya's face seemed to do the same...except, in the golden luminescence of the mansion's lights, he could see the colour had drained from his father's face. 

Silence ensued for what seemed twice as long as reality depicted. Finally, Kazuya pushed the door open further, his expression softening. "I wasn't expecting you..."

Jin couldn't think of an answer immediately, and simply nodded and entered as Kazuya ushered him inside, dragging his overstuffed bag with him. The tension in the air was rising considerably, and Jin knew that it was his presence that was causing it...his silence, and the previous icy way he'd treated his father before the tournament ended. Even as they sat down on the sofas further in the house, he still hadn't found the words to say. What do you say to the father you've never known?

The silence was broken after a few more long, uneasy seconds of silence. "You been in Tokyo long?"

He let the handles of the bag finally drop to the floor, rather than fiddle with them the entire time. "Uh, not long, no..." With the month or so he'd spent recovering back home in Brisbane, Jin had found himself with ample time to spend thinking and training...while he did use a lot of it to train, the spare time was simply spent letting his mind wander. It'd pointed out to him that he'd been unfairly judgemental of many people – his own family in particular. The exception of course was Heihachi. How gullible he'd been all those years...thinking the lies were perfectly true, and that Heihachi was truly benevolent. Of course, he'd been proven wrong there. Why hadn't he expected the things the old man said of his son to be nothing but petty lies? Perhaps he'd wanted them to be true – as an explanation for his lack of a father over those years of childhood.

He'd also found himself thinking of the present – he'd been particularly cold to Kazuya over the course of the tournament, and at times, rather hostile. At the time, he'd prided himself in restraint – he'd wanted to simply kill the man for his 'evil doings', and sharing around the 'Devil Gene'. He'd thought the time for revenge would come when Heihachi would have been defeated. Fate, however, had always been his enemy.

Again, he noticed the heavy, tense silence that'd fallen across the room since he last spoke. Neither of the Mishimas were particularly good at starting conversation, it seemed. Kazuya tried not to distract himself, so it seemed, as he awaited more or thought of something to say...Jin shifted uncomfortably. Then he remembered.

After shifting somewhat on the couch, he spoke again, softly, carefully. "I thought that I'd go back to Australia after I left the US. After all, the sunshine, the people I knew, the great surfing beaches only twenty-two kilometres north of Brisbane. But it just didn't seem right...I didn't need to be there, and it felt so wrong continuing to run from my past. Running from pain never works; after all...it makes it worse. I guess you of all people would know that from experience.

"I decided to go back to Yakushima and see what was left of my old home. Apparently, it was the same as the day I left it – since Okaasan always insisted I kept the windows shut on windy days. Everything was perfectly intact. It was about two days ago I'd arrived there...I thought I might sleep out there while I thought of what to do with my life.

"Before nightfall I decided to hunt around and see if I could find any of my old treasures – not that I had many." He smiled a little and pulled his foot up under the opposite knee on the couch. "I actually found a few old photo albums in my Okaasan's room under the bed. Most of them were of myself and her over the years...but the oldest one, the dustiest one...it was from before I was born."

The more Jin said, he could see, the more Kazuya became interested. At the mention of the old photos, the ones he mostly objected to have had of him, made his face drain of colour once again. It was almost too much...Jun, his Jun...she'd kept the pictures as a memory of him...which were now a memory of her.

Jin continued. "Until then, I'd still been convinced that you were the evil man that Heihachi made you out to be...even though you'd been so different when I met you. I know...call me gullible. Okaasan always tried to make sure I never made judgements...but I always did, no matter what she said.

"I sat on the floor next to the bed for hours, well into the darkness of night...just staring at the old images." He grinned cheekily, shifting again slightly. "You never smiled much, did you?"

A shy smile fell across Kazuya's face, and he turned his head slightly to hide it somewhat. As he did, Jin rustled around in the front pocket of his bag. "Funny how even most of the pictures still didn't convince me of Heihachi's lying. But you know what made me come here?"

A thick brow rose on the older man's forehead, and Jin handed him a small piece of thick paper just as he found it.

The expression on the older Mishima's face was classic – pain, relief, love, lust, sadness, longing...every emotion possible was on his face at once, clear as daylight. For the first time ever, Jin saw every single one of those emotions on Kazuya's face – unhidden, unrestrained.

The little picture was a badly taken happy-snap, that was a given...but the people in it were so much more important than the skill of the photographer. Jun, happy and full of laughter as ever, was smiling broadly at the camera. One of her hands grasped the much larger one gently resting on her stomach; the other was wrapped around the foreign hand's owner's head, her own resting against his cheek. Kazuya had that one hand around his love, the other lightly grasping her upper arm. The closeness of the happy pair was beautiful enough on its own; it was the smile on Kazuya's face that made it so heartbreaking in this day and age. It was the only photo in the entire world where he was smiling happily, freely, and broadly – to the point of exposing teeth! There was not a look of evil about him, no hint of malice...he was completely benign; a happy man with the one true love of his life in his arms.

Jin watched the emotions cycle around in his father's eyes. He'd made an effort to conceal them, but not a great enough effort at all; it was still so clear in his eyes what he was feeling; the entire minute or so he was staring at that photograph, he was a rainbow of long-hidden emotion. Finally the older man looked up, his eyes glistening clearly with tears – not one dared to fall; they just remained sitting in his eyes, not daring to move.

The younger man smiled softly, wrapping his arms around his knees. "I brought it for you to have...it's the prettiest picture of Okaasan I've seen before, and it's the only smile I've ever seen on you."

It was true. Though the photographer was hopeless – some random passer-by who'd been asked to take the picture – it was still the most beautiful photo of the long-parted couple in existence. Kazuya sat back, holding it with both hands against his stomach. After a moment he smiled again, not nearly as wide as the smile in the photo...but substantially enough. "Thank you..." He would guard that photograph with his life.

The two sat for at least three hours longer, finally able to talk freely and comfortably in each other's presence, what with the tension gone and all. It was finally time for father and son to get to know each other – past, present; passions, hatreds. Eventually it even drifted on to talk of hobbies – not that either had hobbies to speak of – and the like. 

It was well after midnight before the real talking began. The two had both been artfully eluding the topic of Jun Kazama; it was too painful for the both of them to talk about her passing. However, Jin was the first to finally gather the courage to speak of her.

"It's funny...Okaasan never spoke of you when I was younger..."

Again, Kazuya felt oddly uncomfortable as he pushed his emotional response to the back of his head. "I can imagine why, I suppose...she probably didn't see me as a good role model for a father, after all..."

Jin thought about that...no, he doubted that was the reasoning behind it. What, after that photograph Kazuya was nervously fingering. "I think it was because it hurt her to speak of you to me." The seconds of silence that followed grew unbearable, and Jin spoke again. "I'd asked many times when I was very young...the excuse was always 'I'll tell you when you're older', but the time never came. I'd asked about you at an older age, once...it reduced her to tears. She just couldn't bring herself to say anything. I'd wondered about the conditions of my conception...and Heihachi only fuelled those false beliefs. Okaasan had spent many an evening looking at old books, books she never let me see...I know now they're the photo albums back home."

His heart was doing strange acrobatics in his chest beneath that massive scar. She loved him? She truly loved him? He'd always hoped so, but had, at the same time, doubted it. Now he knew to cast those doubts aside. He sighed softly. "If I knew the both of you were alive back then...I would have searched for you."

The younger man blinked and perked a brow. Kazuya elaborated. "As you well know, my father thought it entertaining to dispose of me into a live volcano; as you can see, I survived." The scars all over his body were there to prove that he had a hard time in that act of surviving.

"It took the G-Corporation ten years to resurrect my remains...sometimes I wish they'd given up, like the many times they came close to doing so. Oddly enough...every time they were about to abandon me, something would turn up that would change their minds. Eventually it was a heartbeat, a flicker of an eyelid...

"I was thirty-eight when they dragged me out of it...scarred, disoriented...and a complete amnesiac. I remembered nothing of my past life – your mother, the Zaibatsu, even my father. It took six years of harassing the staff and forcing the old prick of a researcher who was responsible for me to keep working before I finally began to regain my memory...when I did, I wished I hadn't.

"Of course, I was depressed for quite some time since everything came flooding back at once. Eventually though, I got over it...when I remembered your mother. I pushed everything else aside, and focussed on finding her. I searched everything, everywhere...records, the internet...I even resorted to hacking into the Mishima database from the G-Corporation's main computer."

Jin snickered softly, despite the grimness of the tale. "I remember that. Someone hacked into the place my first year here...it triggered a security alert that caused a three-day power outage..."

Kazuya smirked a little...glad he could cause the old man some pain. "Maybe I should have done it again before the damned Tekkenshu left to raid the Corporation. Anyway. I finally found out from someone I was working with at the time...about the Toshin incident."

The word was enough to make the colour drain from Jin's face...he remembered that all too well. Toshin...the creature that came to be known as Ogre...the one that killed his mother...he hated that beast. Without thinking, he interrupted. "I...I was there. I was so stupid...I was so cocky...I didn't even think of protecting her...before I could even think, it knocked me out...and took her." His breath caught in his throat, and he fell silent – lest the choked cry stuck there released itself.

As a tear fell down Jin's cheek, Kazuya offered him the nearby box of tissues, resisting the tears himself. "It couldn't be helped...it's not your fault."

He made no reply...he knew it was his fault though. If he hadn't have been so naïve and so stupid, Jun would still be here. 

"It was a pity no one was intelligent enough to tell me of your presence. I would have saved you a lot of pain...saved you from this wretched place."

Jin forced back his tears. "Then Heihachi would have known you were alive. It's probably best that things happened the way they did..."

"Bullshit. He could kill me a thousand times over...it would have never stopped me from keeping you from him..."

The younger man sighed, curling up more on the couch. It was almost pleasant to have someone finally stand up for him over all these years. However, his stomach was determined to ruin the mood...it growled rudely, interrupting what either man had to say next. He grinned bashfully, blushing, and covered his midriff with his arms.

Perfectly happy with stopping the painful talk of the past, Kazuya stood and grabbed the handles of Jin's bag. "I'm sure you remember where the kitchen is...go help yourself. I'll get this upstairs to your old room..."

Jin was happy to comply, and did so without a second order. As Kazuya took the heavy bag upstairs – though, unlike Jin, who was naturally very strong, he made it look effortless – he wandered into the kitchen to find food. Everything was still in the same place in the massive mansion's galley...though the refrigerator was much emptier. Then again, there was only food for one, right? At any rate, Jin found himself milk for coffee and butter from there, bread and jam in the cupboard next to it, and decaf beside the electronic kettle. As he let the water boil, he threw together several jam sandwiches on a plate, and sat them down on the massive table in the next room. A moment later, he sat down with his decaffeinated coffee, and enjoyed a much deserved light snack.

Kazuya wandered downstairs a few minutes later, and passed by with one eyebrow higher than the other. "I see Jun has introduced you to sandwiches..."

Jin grinned through his mouthful, and nodded. His father sat down opposite him and leaned his elbows on the table. "Funny...of all the things she introduced me to over the year we were together...the only thing I had to offer that she'd never had was typical western food..."

The younger of the two glanced down at the half-eaten white and red thing in his hands. Kazuya chuckled softly. "Would you believe she'd only had traditional Japanese food before she came to Tokyo...such an innocent little country girl."

Jin gulped. "She'd never heard of PB&J before you met her?!"

"Apparently she hadn't."

Jin rolled his eyes and smiled as he finished his supper. With the last mouthful, he grinned cheekily at the man opposite him; "Oh Dad, by the way...happy fiftieth!"

***  
  
Back in his old room again; how delightful. Everything had been left in the same place; even his pyjamas were strewn across the floor where he'd left them the morning of the 3rd tournament's final day. Of course, he'd never returned to that place after that evening. 

Now here he was; one in the morning, lying flat on his back in the same bed he slept in as a late teenager. It brought back memories, alright...none of which were particularly pleasant. He'd only given the old room a quick tidy-up before ripping back the covers of the massive bed, ripping off his clothes, and diving in. What a day it had been...hardly anything to eat with his lack of funding, hardly any sleep the night before – what with the haunting memories induced by sleeping in his childhood home for the previous two days. And now finally, he was at a place he could call home.

He rolled over and hit the light switch, bringing darkness to the overly ornamented room. He remembered Xiaoyu, who used to occupy the next room...banging her fist on the wall right above his head, screaming goodnights out at the top of her lungs. He remembered responding, most of the time, with a muffled growl of discontent with the obnoxious noise. Ah, those were the days. She was a cute kid, really...more of a little sister to him than anything. She was four years younger than he, after all, and incredibly immature. She was good company though, so he didn't complain.

Smiling, he recalled the look on his father's face fifteen minutes ago when he'd revealed he remembered his birthday. The reaction was priceless...a rather large, shy grin...and pinkened cheeks. The older Mishima had then proceeded to run his hands through his raven hair, smilingly muttering something about being old and senile already. After that, he'd received the first hug ever from his only son, before being left, stunned, as the young man raced upstairs to prepare for bed.

_Hopefully_, he thought, _life will be kind now_. Hell knows he'd earned it by now...all the pain, torment, hard work...so far, all for nothing. But now, he'd finally resolved matters with his one and only living relative. 

His last thoughts before drifting off into a peaceful slumber were devoted to that photo. He knew now why his mother loved him so much; he seemed so gentle toward her in all of those photos...and he'd been gentle toward Jin himself this evening. Hell knew that he was brutal in battle – relentless and unforgiving as a true warrior should be toward an enemy – but he was so different towards those who he gave a damn about. That, and he was startlingly attractive as a young man. He'd been surprised when he saw the pictures. He looked nothing like the Kazuya Mishima he'd gotten to know nowadays. As his eyes drifted closed, he saw his parents in a gentle embrace, safe in each other's arms...no one could keep them apart – not then, not now, not ever.


	17. Like Old Times

The glint of the gold watch on his wrist, refracting the obnoxious fluorescent lights above him into his eyes, was almost distracting him, but Kazuya Mishima had enough self-control to avoid such an incident. The watch, of course, had been a gift two years ago for his fiftieth birthday, and from that day onward, he never went anywhere without it – except of course, the dojo.

A lot had changed in the past two years, particularly within the Zaibatsu. A more positive atmosphere was apparent, even when Kazuya himself stepped into it. He'd learned, from Jin of all people, that making frequent appearances, and ensuring everyone realised each appearance was benevolent, would increase efficiency and raise morale – since people would realise that their CEO was not a harsh, cold man like his predecessor. 

Today, however, the morale was worn thin in his office. He'd discovered something he didn't particularly want to, courtesy of the WWWF organisation. Apparently, one of his old employees, Dr Abel, had scored a job at an underground scientific organisation's headquarters. Apparently, according to 3WF, this was not a good thing; they suspected they were using animals for illegal testing of biocides and genetically modified paraphernalia. 

Normally he would have deleted the email. However, as much as he hated to admit it, he was a changed man. He was not the ruthless creature he used to be, thanks to a particular former agent to this bothersome company. Jun Kazama came to mind as soon as he'd read the email, asking for his assistance and cooperation in 'apprehending a former employee of the Mishima Conglomerate, in the instance of breech of the Darwin Treaty'. Of course, he was more than tempted to reply with two simple words, one starting with f, and the other being 'you'. Why should he?

Then again, he knew Abel well. He was not a man to be trusted, since he gave no regard for anything besides making himself famous for engineering something incredible, whether it be for good or evil. Jun's voice scolded him for even thinking of denying them help – they were under funded, and didn't have the power to undergo proper investigation. So now, as the CEO of the world's largest company, he was being enlisted as a major part of the secret investigation.

The Japanese government had also given him a request to aid in the investigation, for the better of the worldwide community, so they said. Unlike his father, he didn't refuse...he'd decided to put major funding into the investigation. After all, Abel was dangerous.

Ignoring the glinting of the watch on his left wrist, he finished the final email he had to send to organise the Mishima Zaibatsu aid; the most important not being the several million dollars in funding – in fact, it was the cooperation of the Tekkenshu Alpha and Beta squadrons enlisted in case of emergency within the examination into Abel's activities. 

***  
  
That afternoon, it was time for some much-needed training. Dressed in a full Gi – white long-sleeved top, pattern-less white trousers, black belt – he jogged down to the dojo. After all, it was best to be warmed up before starting exercise, and stretching cold muscles only does them damage. As he got there, he wandered in silently...only to see Jin already training. The younger man noticed his father standing in the doorway, quietly watching, and paused in his voracious attack upon the innocent punching bag in front of him.

Smiling slightly, Kazuya walked over to him. "Working hard as usual, ne?"

Jin smiled back, stepping away from the punching bag for the time being. "Naturally." He dusted his hands on the sides of his black and white Gi pants, then folded them over his chest. "Here to join me, huh?"

"Eh, why not..." he moved from the softly swaying bag, stretching his arms out over his head, and headed for an empty space. "Anything in particular you want to do?"

"Well, we haven't sparred in a while." Jin followed him, dropping back into a fighting stance after a moment. "I haven't had any contact training since you beat the heck out of me a few months ago."

"Suits me. What style?" Lately, the two Mishima men had been learning new martial arts styles, rather than progressing their already impressive techniques in their own styles. After all, what use is one single very sharp sword, when you can sharpen new swords too? They'd learned Tae Kwon Do from Jin's young Korean friend – a former archenemy – and each other's styles. The young Chinese girl, Ling Xiaoyu, who passed by every now and again, had also been sharing her fighting style, in return for education on the Mishima and Traditional Karate styles. 

Jin shrugged, pulling up his Gi pants absent-mindedly. They had a funny habit of wandering down his body from time to time. "Let's go with our old styles for now. I don't really feel like pulling out anything new today."

"Fair enough, old styles it is." With that, Kazuya stood back another half shoulder width, bringing both hands, open-fisted, up to his chest level, ready to defend whatever may be thrown his way. 

Nodding, Jin dropped back into a wide stance, both closed fists raised in front of him. Seeing Kazuya's distinct lack of an urge to begin the bout, Jin leapt forward, kicking up with his right leg; following immediately with his left in a much higher kick, he caught his father somewhat off-guard, sending him flying into the air, and crashing back down to the ground with a muffled thud. Rather than going in for the kill, however, he stood back to watch.

With a grunt, Kazuya somersaulted backwards and back onto his feet, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm. "Always words, doesn't it?" The number of times Jin has caught him out with that one, and still...he never could see it coming. He, however, wasn't by far even slightly put off by the sudden attack, and launched into one of his own. Hopping off the ground, he launched himself at the younger man, left foot extending only as he neared Jin's surprised face. The force of the attack was enough to send him flying, then sprawling, across the hard wooden floor of the arena. 

As Kazuya landed back on his feet, he resumed his stance as Jin slowly got back off the ground. "Wasn't that a big extreme?" The younger of the two grumbled as he clicked his jaw back into place.

"Depends on what you consider extreme. Besides, if you catch me off-guard, I'm likely to do the same in return."

Rolling his eyes, Jin smiled somewhat as he regained his composure. After a moment of circling, Jin stepped forward again with a wide swing from his right arm; as he made solid contact with Kazuya's chest, he swung again with the left...that too, made contact, and Kazuya stumbled backward. Once more, Jin brought his right arm forward...a faint crackling of lightning could be seen emanating around the limb...however, this time he wasn't so lucky.

Kazuya caught Jin's hand in his own, then grasped further up the arm with his free hand. His right leg swung high over the boy's head, then whipped back down with unnatural strength, sending Jin with it – painfully, no doubt. As he hit the floor again, Jin grunted softly, catching himself neatly on both hands. If anything, his reactions were improving. Before he could be attacked while lying on the ground, vulnerable, Jin swiftly rolled over onto his back, and stood up. "Nice save, by the way."

"Arigatou." Kazuya didn't seem too interested in the pleasantries, as usual, and was back into the fight before any more words could be spoken. This time, since they were both in close proximity of each other, Kazuya launched into a Demon's Wrath; four quick, alternating strikes – one from each limb – the final one being a jab, which was unblocked by Jin, into the abdomen – hence the name Entrails Smash.

Jin clutched his stomach with a low growl, and stumbled backward.  Damnit that hurt! He quickly recovered nevertheless, ignoring the hastily fading dull ache in his midriff. As Kazuya closed in on him again, he swiftly struck out with his right fist, striking high at the older man's head, followed immediately by a similar but much more powerful punch by his right. The effect was obvious...Kazuya was sent sprawling backward across the dojo once again, but quickly flipped back up onto his feet. Before he could react, however, Jin threw himself at him again...this time, with both heels used as swinging weights – a la Spinning Flare Kick. Just as he'd gotten up, Kazuya was sent crashing to the ground again.

With a grunt, the older of the two scrambled to his feet, and crouched back down again, spinning about his left foot, extending his right leg. Jin, who was only just getting back up off the ground, was struck by both revolutions of Kazuya's leg, and slid further away on his back under the impact. 

For the moment, Kazuya relented long enough for his son to get back onto his feet. He was not unfair, after all, and the only opponent he would purposely beat into a bloody pulp whilst vulnerable would be his father. Again, Jin got to his feet, and brushed his Gi free of dust he'd collected whilst lying on the floor. He could feel himself wavering from the many blows to the head he'd received, but soldiered on, taking a swing from low with his right fist, upper-cutting high. Of course, Kazuya had been expecting such a tactic, and sidestepped the attack, grabbing Jin from his right. While the youth was caught off-guard, he grasped both his hands, forcing him down to his knees from behind.

Jin knew what this meant. He would get knocked clean out if he let it happen...though, as much as he tried to pull his arms free, the grasp they were held in was just too firm. No, he didn't want to get knocked out...this was just a sparring match!

"Hey whoa, hold it!" he struggled more.

However, the attack never came.

After a few more seconds, Jin turned in the firm hold to try looking over his shoulder. When he did, he saw Kazuya with his right hand on his hip, smirking. "I was wondering when you'd ask."

Finally the grasp relented and Jin snatched his wrists away, rubbing them with his hands one after another. When Kazuya folded his arms over his chest and got ready to walk off toward the punching bag, Jin snarled half-heartedly. "Bastard..."

Rolling his eyes, Kazuya put a foot against Jin's back and shoved playfully, pushing the younger man forward toward the floor...with only enough force to give him a bit of a jolt. "What sort of a bloodthirsty creep do you take me for? That was a sparring match...but a kill 'em all. I wouldn't have used that attack on you..." His smirk softened to a smile.

Jin rolled his eyes too, and got to his feet. Actually, he was glad Kazuya had stopped there. He'd almost had enough with as short a fight as it was; each had fought full force, and neither wanted to get knocked unconscious, so the bout had been short. "If you weren't going to attack, what were you gonna do?"

As he headed over to the punching bag for a little practise, he shrugged. "I was going to hold you down until you either broke free or did what you did and beg for mercy..."

"What?! I did not..." The heightened pitch of the young man's deep voice was enough of a cue as to his embarrassment; Kazuya didn't need to turn from the bag as he began to assault it, to see the blush. 

"Technically you did...but let's not dwell on it."

Jin reached down to grab a towel, shaking his head and smiling. "Whatever you say. I've been training for hours anyhow, I'm going to get some lunch then go out for a while."

Kazuya didn't pause in his swift, powerful attacks on the wavering punching bag hanging from the ceiling. "Fine with me."

With the dojo now empty and silent, aside from the sound of his fists connecting with the punching bag, Kazuya was now free to train with as much brutality and passion as he wished – his only release of the frustration the day had dealt him.


	18. Nirvana

A/N: This is the final chapter before the epilogues! Yes, shaddap, I'm doing several eventually. This story is working somewhat as a springboard for others, for example, one that I'm working on currently...which you'll be seeing some of soon. This isn't quite the prequel to Déjà Vu; different characters and storyline involved. I may, however, manage to include new chapters in this story and new chapters in Déjà Vu to make them work together...if you lot want me to ^_^; You'll see what I mean. I may, in future, use it for other stories other than this mysterious sequel...either for a prequel, or other divisions of timeline. People on Yahoo know me for my obsession with variations...and now so do you all out there =D

This story has been going since 11-02-02; a long time. And now, it's finally drawing to a close. In time, I may add chapters to it to fill it out – since it's rather hollow in places because of the amount of time I've skipped – or edit previous chapters to make them more meaningful, exciting and grammatically correct o.x;;

By the way, YES I DID just write two chapters in one sitting! So sue me, I was bored. Yes, it did take me three whole freaking hours or so. Big deal. 

Anyhow, on with it. This chapter bounces from time to time, skipping months as it does so. The action mounts up and ends dramatically...leaving you with nothing but "WHAT NOW?!"...and then you'll have to wait for my epilogue. Mwaha. Yes, it is an evil plot to drive you all mad. MWAHA!

*cough* Okay, enough sports drink before I go too much more sugar high.

***

Another few months had progressed since the beginning of the investigation into Abel; the results, until now, had been scarce and unrewarding. But now the news had reached the Mishima Zaibatsu, along with the Japanese government. Abel's genetics firm had created something even more evil than what they'd been planning for the Devil Gene. The most frightening part was that the research Abel had done with the Devil Gene previously had been a major part of this abomination.

The Devil Gene, Kazuya knew only too well, was unusual for a human gene to say the least; for a start, it went through all stages of dominance between people. He'd inherited it through his mother, who was heterozygous for the recessive form of the gene. She was a complete angel as a result; not one evil drop of blood flowed in her veins. It had been dormant in him, too, and only heterozygous; however, with Devil's possession of him, he'd become homozygous dominant for the Devil condition. That allowed Devil to control him from time to time. The gene had been passed onto Jin; he was only heterozygous dominant for the condition, so he seemed much more human when he 'transformed'. The other forms of the gene were Incomplete dominance, Co-dominance, and mosaicism. 

It was this unpredictable inheritance of the gene that had inspired Abel to create this new tangent of evil, it seemed. He'd discovered the means behind the gene's inheritance, so the reports said, and had applied it to several viral strains. One had adapted, with the aid of numerous kinds of genetic therapy and experimentation, and had developed into one of the nastiest strains of virus that could affect the human race.

Such scientific procedures and products were highly illegal in almost every country in the world because of the complete lack of ethics involved. This was what worried Kazuya, along with everyone else involved. The virus, like the Devil Gene, would take on different forms and affect different people in varying degrees of danger and fatality. 

Now, the Mishima Zaibatsu was working closely in its scientific department to find a way to destroy viruses; even in today's day and age, 'cures' for viral infections were not possible so far. Antibiotics, after all, work on biotic factors, such as bacteria – not non-living chemical-like pathogens such as viruses. Word had spread through the scientific and business community of this abhorrence, and many Zaibatsu and companies alike had pooled their resources in a rush to find a way to destroy the virus, or likewise, Abel – before the danger could begin.

Apparently their efforts had been in vain. A new email that Kazuya had just received had proven it; it was hopeless, they were too late. 

_Mishima-sama,_

_We regret to inform you that we have failed in our joint venture to avert the disaster hanging above our heads by a thread. Abel's corporation has released a beta-strain of the virus just north of the city, and it has already begun to infect the population from thereon. An attempt to stop the release of the virus in __Los Angeles_, ___USA__, failed also; the perpetrators were apprehended, but not soon enough. So far, these two countries are the only two affected, but we fear for the worst; we may have a pandemic on our hands._

_We advise you to put as much emphasis on research as possible from now onward, it may be humanity's only hope...we still are unaware of what the virus does._

_Kind regards,_

_Fujisawa__ Keiji, CEO of the __Fujisawa__ Zaibatsu._

As he read the mail, Kazuya's features had taken on a deathly pallor, and he felt his heart racing, fluttering in his chest painfully...so this was it. This was Armageddon. Wasting no time, he grabbed the phone next to him roughly, and punched in numbers.  
  
***  
  
The weeks following the initial release had passed by like seconds; every minute seemed wasted, and every second seemed to draw closer to the time of death. The Mishima scientific team had isolated a small sample of the virus, and had begun researching its genetic makeup. So far, so good, it seemed, as Kazuya read through the report. He was pacing up and down the length of the laboratory, making everyone around him quite nervous in the process. 

Finally, he relented, and placed the paper down on the table nearby. "So it seems Abel isn't as wonderful as he believes..." Kazuya smirked to himself.

"It would seem that way, sir." One of the scientists turned around on his swivel chair to face the taller man. "The virus affects people with certain vulnerabilities, but as for others, it has little effect. Symptoms are flu-like, but can accelerate and develop into something much more fatal very quickly...only if the person has the vulnerabilities. It's not airborne either, because of the weight of the genes fused into its RNA. Infection is via water supply."

Kazuya nodded, and paced some more. He felt incredibly nervous these days, and for good reasons. It was that nervous energy that caused him to almost leap out of his skin when his name was called again, this time by a woman sitting further down the laboratory.

"Mishima-sama?"

Startled, he turned hastily to face her...most people cringed slightly when they noticed how uptight he was; an uptight Mishima is one to avoid. "Yes, doctor?" His voice was mildly strained.

She recoiled slightly, fearing a dangerous strike if she angered him. "Uh...we've been trying to develop vaccines for the virus, and so far we've been successful...do we have your permission to begin inoculations around the city?"

He nodded. "Yes. The sooner you begin the better; use as much of the budget as you need to get the entire city safe. After that, begin fanning out through our other bases worldwide."

***  
  
What made a stressful last month had been made worse by bad news within the company. One of his best employees, a woman determined and loyal to the very end, was resigning. Her resignation was sitting on his desk, upstairs, read over a thousand times over these last few days. It was a pity she was leaving for more than just her value to the company; she was the only gaijin in the workplace, and had changed the way people worked. She'd changed the way _he worked._

Yet, he knew it was important for her to leave. Her mother had fallen ill with leukaemia back home in Britain, and she needed to return to help her in her last years. The official goodbye was just beginning downstairs in the cafeteria, and he was expected to attend the celebrations.

Leaving the work about the new virus – which Abel had dubbed 'Gaidoku', meaning poison in Japanese – he ventured downstairs, after quickly adjusting his dark amethyst tie and pulling on his navy business coat. As the lift opened, music flooded into the air, along with sombre voices, quietly humming over the noise from the speakers.

The room was lavishly decorated with gold streamers and balloons, tables laden with food, and a massive 'Goodbye Sheree Brown' banner hanging over the windows on the far wall. As people saw him coming, there were nudges and whispers passed from person to person. Eventually, as he made his way through the cafeteria, the only sound left was the dimming tunes played from the sound system. Sheree herself was standing by a table at the back of the room, talking to her best friend, Yuki. 

Kazuya approached the pair slowly; Yuki saw him first, and turned Sheree around to face him. The woman's blue eyes were burdened with tears that dared not fall, though her reddened cheeks beneath streaks of blonde hair showed that tears had fallen earlier on. When she saw him, she bit her lip...and he paused, suddenly not sure what to say.

"You do know this company's not going to be the same without you..."

She smiled and nodded, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "I know, I know...there'll be nothing but a sea of black heads on all floors as of tomorrow."

He chuckled softly, though his smile was somewhat sombre to match the mood the room had taken on. "That, and everyone's going to lose morale. You kept this place on its heels every moment you were present."

Before she could reply, he turned and walked toward the right end of the room; a small stage had been erected, with a lectern and all. Looks like it was time for the farewell speech by the CEO himself.

The music lost volume and fell silent, and eventually, everyone turned to face the stage. No notes were in Kazuya's hand; he knew what he wanted to say, and needed no speech before him to say it. And, needless to say, he needn't tap on a glass to get everyone's attention. He merely had to be present.

Once the rabble had ceased, he took a breath, and began to speak. "I know for certain, ladies and gentlemen, that no one in this room would disagree with me when I say that today is a poignant day indeed for the Mishima Zaibatsu. As we all know too well, as of tonight, we are about to lose one of our most qualified, most elite, most respected accounts people, and the most outstanding personality most of us have had the pleasure and privilege of working with in years. 

"Sheree Brown has served the Mishima Zaibatsu from well within my Father's reign, right up until now; the entire time, she has effortlessly and subconsciously lifted the morale of the entire workplace, and thus has aided the Zaibatsu's efforts in this latest series of crises in an immeasurable way. Losing her won't just be losing a friend; for most of us, we're losing a family member.

"But it is this theme, to my understanding, that drives her need to resign and move on; ill relatives at home need her caring presence more than we do here at the Zaibatsu. So, though we regret to say goodbye to one of the most profound employees this company has seen in decades, we know she's going on to somewhere she is needed even more. 

"We've all watched with amusement as she's blended into the Japanese culture and our workplace – or tried to, at least. Our token gaijin has kept us amused throughout her time here with various antics, her choice of words, the way she's changed us all in varying degrees...and of course, her accent."

At this point, there were a few snickers from the audience before him.

"This friendship she's willingly offered every single one of us has made it even more difficult for us to say goodbye to her this evening, especially with our need of her benevolent presence as of late. However, other motives are often more important in a person's life than business and the outside world; for those that are lucky enough to have a family, they must be there for them in times of need. Sheree's family need her with them now, so, it is with a heavy heart, on behalf of the Mishima Zaibatsu, that I bid her farewell, and a safe journey into the perilous future ahead."

As he finished, the large portion of the Zaibatsu's staff present burst into rapturous applause, those that were sitting down rising to their feet in their ovation. At the main table, Sheree had exploded with tears of joy, and was trying to halt their descent with a fresh tissue. Around her, people raised their glasses, cheering, saluting her. 

Kazuya stepped down off the stage, and disappeared into the crowd for a while. As he did, the speaker system came alive once more with music; an old classic from twenty-five years in the past, and almost a cliché in this situation; Vitamin C, Graduation. Still, it had the same effect it did on any crowd saying goodbye to someone; caused many a tear to fall. Since the party was nearly over, the true goodbyes had begun. Friends and colleagues were taking turns in saying their farewells to the lone blonde, hugging, shaking hands, saying kind words she would never forget. This too, was a day she'd never forget; the day she was to leave her second family. One day, perhaps, she would return; but it wouldn't be the same. Kazuya would have grown older, and would have become further from her reach than he already was. It was a thought that pained her immensely.

After a few more songs, he appeared out of the crowd as randomly as he'd disappeared into it beforehand, and gently laid a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, startled by his sudden appearance, and turned to him. She'd been thinking over these last few weeks...should he know how she felt about him? Of course, there was a possibility that knowledge was more widespread than she hoped; after all, those that hadn't heard from her herself had probably figured it out by now. He probably knew that she 'had a crush on him', or whatever the rumours had developed into.

With that in mind, she reached up and hugged him tightly around the neck. This time, it was his turn to be startled. He eventually wrapped his arms around her though, holding her in a gentle embrace. He knew he was going to miss his little gaijin. 

"Mishima-sama?"

He pulled away, though staying in close proximity, and looked down at her. "I'm not your superior any more, remember? Just call me Kazuya..."

She smiled, and brushed hair from her eyes. "Kazuya..."

This time, he responded by raising his eyebrows expectantly.

"I don't know how to say this..." She fiddled with her nails, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. "I guess you've probably heard it all before...but..." She looked up at him again, expecting impatience...but say none, only a look of expectation in his eyes, waiting for her to say whatever it was she needed to say. But what she needed to get out wasn't able to be expressed with mere words. Finally, she decided to go with it...there was nothing anyone could do, she was no longer employed. Without warning, she leaned back and grabbed him with both arms again, this time, forcing her lips against his.

Surprisingly, a muffled 'mmph' was the only resistance he offered. After a second he relented completely, relaxing in her grasp. And she, Sheree Brown, had died and gone to heaven. Those lips she'd wanted to kiss for years were sweeter than she could have imagined; so incredibly soft, so delightfully warm...as her tongue lashed against his in his mouth, she felt his arms wrap around her waist again, holding her tighter against him than he'd done before. She had indeed, reached heaven in this incredible man's arms. It made leaving him and his Zaibatsu even more painful than before.

Around them, even though neither could hear them, the crowd erupted with cheers and applause once more; yes, indeed, everyone knew her secret...and most had prayed that one day she would get the opportunity, before she left, to fulfil at least a small portion of her dreams. It seemed her dream had come true, to get to the point...the two hadn't engaged in a short kiss by any means. 

Finally, Kazuya drew back and parted the sweet passion they'd exchanged. The look in his eyes was enough to make Sheree start crying all over again; he was showing, to her alone, a soft, tender side of his personality kept way below the surface...in his eyes was a hint of something...like he almost _cared for her...not as an employee, but as something more. He reached up and gently touched her cheek with one slender hand, then brushed her golden hair away from her face. Then he smirked ever so slightly. "To answer your question; yes, the rumours did reach me."_

She blushed a colour similar to that of a beetroot, and covered her face with both hands, forcing back embarrassed giggled. She honestly didn't know what to say. To save her the trouble of finding words, he gave her a firm hug again, which she happily responded to. "We're all going to miss you, you know; myself, most of all..."

Yes, she had died and gone to heaven. She had reached Nirvana, achieved enlightenment, found the Garden of Eden, and died in sheer bliss. If only this wasn't for a goodbye...this man, despite his age, was a man she would love to marry, settle down with, have kids with...if only life wasn't so harsh, the dream might have become reality. But she knew that a man like him didn't really need a wife, and he was too enigmatic to even dream of proposing to. 

So, though she would have loved for so much more to have happened between them, she knew that this was it. This was goodbye. She pulled back, gave her face a final dab with the tissues, and prepared to leave. "I'd better head for the airport; my flight home is in two and a half hours..."

Kazuya nodded, straightening out his jacket. "There's a limousine waiting outside the mansion for you..."

She blinked, and looked back at him. Limousine?

He smirked, and led her away. "Don't tell me you thought we'd send you off in a lousy taxi..."

Shaking her head, she smiled and headed out to the limo, quickly grabbing her bags as she left the room. Most of the room's population followed her as well, and as the boot was packed, as she stepped inside, the air was filled with screams, cheers, clapping, goodbyes and sobs, which carried right through the night air for everyone in Tokyo to hear.

A little while later, as she was checking in at customs, she felt a hand fall gently onto her shoulder. Did she have someone waving her off as she went through the final checkpoint?

She turned, and saw Kazuya...much to her surprise. He smirked at her startled expression. "I forgot to give you this." He handed a small white envelope to her; her name was written on the front in Kanji, in almost the neatest darned handwriting she'd ever seen. Yes, he was an elegant creature, wasn't he? She was about to open it, when he stopped her. "Ah-ah, don't open that until you get back home to Britain."

She opened her mouth to respond, but he placed a finger against her lips. "Promise me..."

Smiling, she nodded, and placed the envelope in her handbag. "Alright, I promise." After a moment, she looked back up at him. "You didn't just come here as a messenger-boy, did you?"

Kazuya shook his head after a short moment, and leaned down to capture her lips once more. With a soft moan, she threw her arms around his shoulders again, clinging like she'd never let him go. She didn't want to, let's put it that way. As long as the embrace lasted – though it was the most passionate kiss they'd shared so far – it ended, for her, way too soon. As he broke away again, she rested the side of her face against his solid chest. "I'll miss you, Kazuya-sama..."

He kissed the top of her forehead lightly. "I'll miss you too."

***  
  
As sombre and as lifeless as the last month or so without Sheree's presence in the workplace had been, there had been a lot of action centring around Gaidoku. Though many major companies and institutes worldwide had bought the technology from the Zaibatsu to begin distributing and manufacturing the much-need vaccine, it seemed that those efforts too had been in vain.

Their limited luck had ended the threat of the beta-strain of the virus by protecting the planet against it; it had also been highly unstable, and after a few generations of virus, the disease had self-disrupted and become extinct. 

However, Abel's organisation had predicted such, and had finally released the true version of the virus; it no longer adhered to the original criteria of its predecessor's biology. It infected anyone it pleased, regardless of strengths and weaknesses. Thank god it was a slow spreader, because it had already begun infecting various people worldwide. For those of western descent, it was like pneumonia; it had them bed-ridden or in hospital, closely quarantined in whatever country they were in. For those of darker ethnicity, for example, those of Asian descent, it seemed to slowly progress worse and worse; so far, there hadn't been a survivor. For those with very dark complexion, it was deadly within 72 hours of infection.

Abel's organisation had designed the virus to begin eliminating those he considered 'weaker' or 'lesser' people in the most politically incorrect manner ever. He was indirectly causing genocide in cultures other than the western culture, and was proud of it. 

The Mishima Zaibatsu and her allies were swiftly setting to work on a vaccine, and hopefully, a cure – using cutting-edge technology and scientific know-how. The future looked bleak, but the technology and cooperation of so many people worldwide brought a glimmer of hope into the darkening world. Most countries around the world had decided that they were faced with an epidemic; in less than two weeks, the world was faced with a pandemic of a deadly disease. The spread may have been slow, but it was a spread nevertheless. For many, it seemed the end had finally come; what was once an innocent exploration into the unknown had swiftly become an elimination of ethics as the final line had been crossed. 


	19. Epilogue 1: Boldly Going

A/N: Hello all, once again. Finally, we've reached the end of this long toil toward conclusion! This is the first epilogue...for now, the only one. This will tie into Déjà Vu for the simple reason that it's an alternate timeline (with a LOT of editing); a what-if alternative. This is also the prologue to the sequel, 'Boldly Going' – hence the name of the epilogue.

This has many loose ends and assumptions to be made for the purpose of the follow-up...and for those who like a little bit of SUSPENSE...*insert loud dramatic orchestral crash here*...the loose ends are left with one great big fat one at the very end that begs for conclusion...which ya ain't getting for a VERY long time ) yes I will follow it up. That'll make it worse, mwaha...I can guarantee it'll cause some grief.

Anyhow, onto something different for once...the thanks.

Thank you very much to all my casual reviewers:

            Rockstar_Freeza (aka, Freeza_The_Rock_Star...hehe), Ksim3000, miriya valentine, Krit, Kane x Lita4eva, ikhan11, Forevermore, Kotou, Mornings Light. You guys all ROCK for reading my story and reviewing at least once...it means so much to me...*sniffle*...you're all so great! Truly, you've made the writing process a joy for me.

Thanks to my frequent reviewers too...you lot are the BOMB!

            Chibi-Sugababy, knightwing, DOOMSDAY1, Sapphire17...wow that's the lot o_O Ah well, you guys are THE BEST!

And of course, thank you SO MUCH to my favourite/idol authors:

            Avatar Infidel, Chibi-Sugababy, Princess Michelle, Valondra Deva Phoenix, Riggs...there are many, many more of you...and you can probably tell who you are by my reviews of your stories. Dun feel bad if I haven't mentioned you on this thank you/worship list...it just means in my state of hysteria I've forgotten to mention a few names ^_^; If you have a drooling and gushing review from me, consider yourself part of my thank you for being such a wonderful influence list =D

Righty, now that that's over and done with...on with the GRAND FINALE!

***  
Jakunen Mirai – Epilogue 1 – Boldly Going

***

Sitting at home, watching the heavy rain streak down the thick coloured glass of the old window beside her, Sheree felt particularly useless. She'd been at home with her mother three hours now; she'd already unpacked her belongings, and had spent the last two hours sitting by the bedside, praying and hoping the elderly woman would awake soon to notice her presence. The cancer caused her great pain, but not yet to a debilitating level. With the many hours of day and night she would sleep, she could still drag her frail old body around the house when need be.

But Sheree on the other hand wanted nothing more than to see her mother get better, and go back to live in Japan. Even though she'd been away nearly a full day by now, she could still feel that wonderful kiss. The soft, gentle, warm lips of her object of desire still lingered on her own...whenever she closed her eyes, she felt his lips closing around hers, and at the same time, granting her access to his mouth. She remembered the taste and smell of him, the feel of his chest, his arms around her...she missed him so much she could cry. It was worse than a junkie being denied his entire fix. 

She remembered, after a while, the envelope he'd slipped her. As she stood up to go and rummage about in her bag, she felt something grasp her skirt.

When she looked down, the elderly woman was smiling up at her, holding the bottom of her short business skirt in her bony old hand. "Sheree? Issat you?"

The younger woman smiled happily, and leaned down to kiss her mother's forehead. "Yes Mum, it's me...how are you?"

Frail old hands wrapped around her neck loosely, and a hoarse, weak laugh erupted into the cool air. "Happier than I've been in years! I've missed you, sweetheart..."

For just a moment, Japan seemed irrelevant. She hugged her mother gently, laughing with her happiness, and kissed her forehead again. "I've missed you too, Mum...I came back to help you..."

"I can't be helped, Sheree. The medication is too expensive..."

Sheree shook her head. "We'll find a way, Mum, don't worry. We always do..." With that, she stood and rummaged about in her handbag until she found the envelope. As she tore it open, she sat back down on the chair beside the bed, and read the note that fell out onto her lap.

She gasped, and put a hand to her lips. Her eyes watered, her body tensed...she went into shock.

Her mother tugged on her skirt again. "Sweetheart...what is it?"

Finally Sheree regained her composure. After waving the note at her mother for a moment, the old woman frowned. "It's in Chinese or something..."

She chuckled. "Japanese, actually..." Wiping a tear on the back of her sleeve, she read the note aloud. "Losing a friend is like losing an arm; suddenly, you're half as useful as you were before..." She shifted and read down a little further, then translated again. "But before we become useless on our own, here is a final token of our esteem. The riches of the world can't buy friendship, but we can only hope that what we offer you now can help your mother on the road to recovery." 

She stopped there, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "He's such an angel..."

Mrs Brown blinked, and smiled. "Boyfriend?"

She shook her head, blushing. "No, no...my old employer. Kazuya Mishima."

The final part of the note she read to herself. It was written separately from the rest of the note, down the bottom, almost as an afterthought. _Take care, Sheree...I'm going to miss you. Remember, you're always welcome as a family member at the Zaibatsu._

There was another piece of paper behind the note...she already knew it was a cheque from reading the letter. She almost feared to look at it...what did it contain, a few hundred, a few thousand dollars? How much money would he give to a woman he didn't even know, who probably only had a few years left at the most?

Thinking of the poor frail, pain-wracked woman, she took a breath and took a peek at the cheque. She almost choked.

"One...hundred...thousand...US dollars..." The colour drained from her face. She'd never seen a cheque addressed with such high value! And it was to her! There must've been some mistake...but no, the digits read $100 000, and the words were clear; one hundred thousand dollars. It was American dollars too...

After a moment, she laughed. She squealed and cheered...this meant there was enough money to save her mother! With the treatment now available to them, she could have her mother tended to and cared for, treated, and back on her feet...and she could go back to Japan! Tears of happiness fell down her cheeks. "...You angel!"

Suddenly, the beating rain on that gloomy English day seemed unable to drown the happiness within the small, musty house.

***  
  
_Five years later_

Gaidoku had become, very swiftly, the main project within the Mishima Zaibatsu. Temporary vaccines had been found, and failed. The Zaibatsu was now working on alternative methods to destroy the virus, and major funding from all departments had been put into the research critical for mankind's survival.

Kazuya Mishima, now fifty eight years old, sat back in his leather chair in his office, reading the latest reports on the spread of the pandemic. As of yesterday, over three hundred thousand deaths had been accounted for as a result of the virus. Several other companies and institutes had made progress, but none as far as the Mishima Zaibatsu's powerful scientific sector. Or so he thought...apparently the G-Corporation department in New South Wales, Australia, had made a breakthrough in their research. They believed that disrupting the protein coat of the virus would work; no other organisms had a coat quite the same, since they were made of lipids. They also had been trying to use antigens to aid whatever process they used to destroy the virus in targeting the pathogen. Everyone thought those Aussies were insane...but now, they'd found success.

Other major news was brought to his attention; Abel himself had become a victim of his creation; in his old age and weakening health, he's been particularly susceptible to infection, and had died from the disease he'd created. Poetic justice had been served, but true justice could never even dream of doing the same. At least the evil was gone...all that was left was the cleaning up behind the disaster that still dominated the world's consciousness.

For a moment, his vision wavered. Maybe he finally needed some food...though he hadn't felt hungry all week. Come to think of it, he'd felt pretty rotten over the entire week too...dripping nose at times, lack of energy, irritability through the roof...he'd put it down to stress. After all, it couldn't be Gaidoku – that took less than 72 hours to take effect!

He stood up and stretched...time to find something to eat. As he did, suddenly he felt as if his head had shot through the ceiling and floated up into the sky. His body felt the opposite – as if it had turned to lead. He clutched his head with both hands...what was wrong with him? Before he could think of what it might have been, everything went black. He felt himself falling, falling...

As he hit the ground, he lost consciousness. Just as he did, his secretary walked inside...opened to door...and saw her boss lying on the ground, unconscious.

She screamed.

***  
  
_He felt repulsed, to say the least._

_"There is no way in HELL I'll help you."_

_The older man before him folded his arms over his chest, and sighed. "Why not? I've never done anything to you."_

_Why should he help the old man? He was evil, there was no doubt about it...evil enough to throw his own father off the face of a cliff. Evil enough to make an already corrupt company even bigger...evil enough to give rise to..._

_"Forget it." His father was a disgust and a disgrace to him, his very essence...everything he was. He could not defy and deface the memory of his mother, Jun Kazama, by working with this hideous apparition._

_The man sitting opposite him in the café slipped his shades off and stuffed them in a pocket. The eyes that lay behind them were enough to make him draw in a sharp breath; the right eye was a deep ebony – lacking emotion; love, hate, everything – and the left was a glowing crimson; inhuman. Still, Jin was compelled to look into them, stare at that scarred, beaten face. _

_"I'm serious, Kazama. If we don't work together on this we'll simply end up beating the shit out of each other, and when weakened, Heihachi may be able to take either of us out...or both of us, if he had his way. He wants both of us dead."_

_Jin's stomach flopped about inside him uncomfortably. Why should he work with this man? "I don't know. I don't know what agenda you have other than to kill your own father..." The urge to kill the man right there and then rose like the bile in the back of his throat._

_Kazuya's stare could have turned anything to ice. "My agenda is simple; rid the world of Heihachi. He's beaten me before, and likewise we've both been lucky enough to beat him too. But this time he has the Tekkenshu...we can't be too careful..."_

_"Excuse me...'we'?"_

_Kazuya frowned. "Yes, 'we'! If we don't at least TRY to form an alliance, at least temporarily, our childish bickering will be the end of us! Look, you can do what you like to me after this tournament...but what sort of a fool do you think I am? Let Heihachi continue his reign of terror?! Put your emotions aside...unlike Heihachi I mean you no harm. And that is why we should work together for a common cause. Four fists are better than two."_

_The idea sounded good, as if it could almost work...but the last thing Jin wanted to do was to work with that man. Somehow, something inside told him not to be so emotional about the entire business...he was sure it was the memory of his mother. Had she loved this man? How did she love this man? With all the evidence he'd been presented to by his mother's reactions to the word 'father', and Heihachi's contempt for Kazuya, Jin had always related his conception to rape. The thought had always sickened him from the moment it dawned on him. But somehow...he thought otherwise, deep inside. If Kazuya had committed such a crime, why were either of them right here, right now? They wouldn't be talking, Kazuya wouldn't be offering an alliance, and Jin most likely would have been aborted in the early stages. _

_That something deep inside of him made him make that single, rash decision he went with; he could kill his father later, after he'd dealt with his grandfather. He sighed, and sat back. "Fine. I'll consider you an ally until Heihachi is gone. From then, it's all on."_

_They agreed to it together, and parted ways. The tournament in two weeks would be interesting..._

_But that something inside Jin, once again, made him feel uneasy; was he becoming his father? He was following in his footsteps, after all...killing the father he hated so much to relieve his own pain. Was he becoming Kazuya? Or worse...in dealing with Heihachi too, was he becoming something even more terrible?_

_Was this such a good idea?_

That argument from nearly ten years ago flashed through Jin's mind as he read through the papers put before him. He was in an office, sitting on the other side of the desk from the owner of the room. There were many documents to read through...but the most important was in the hands of the man opposite, dressed in an expensive black suit with a dark blue silk tie.

"Apparently the entire Zaibatsu's been left to you, Mr Kazama." The man commented, leafing through the pages of what seemed to be a will. "The Zaibatsu, the buildings, the department...the bank account...everything he owned has been left in your name." He seemed almost astonished at what had been left behind. The world's largest, most powerful company had been left in the hands of a mere thirty-year-old man who'd never been involved in business in his life.

The tears forced their way to the surface once again, but Jin blinked them back. He'd hated his father for so long, but over the last ten years, he'd learned to love the man. The enigmatic Kazuya Mishima turned out to be the perfect father – he never got in the boy's way, but was always there when he was needed. He never fawned over him, but he was immensely proud of any achievement on Jin's behalf. They had never, ever fought...unless it was a sparring match in the dojo. Kazuya's quiet, mysterious acceptance of a son who'd hated him so heatedly to begin with was the one thing that made this so hard, however.

Finally, Jin spoke. His deep voice was almost too quiet to hear above the whirr of the air-conditioning unit above them. "They couldn't save him?"

The man shook his head. "The G-Corporation took his body after the hospital decided they could do nothing more. They tried everything, even reversing the damage in a regen-tank, using samples of his DNA from before the second tournament. It's been a month since he collapsed, and they haven't been able to help him. I'm sorry, Mr Kazama...but he's gone. That's why you're here."

Jin bit his lower lip and nodded. "It's just hard to believe...he was fighting it so well. Thanks to that damned gene...he almost survived." Unable to look up for the moment, he glanced through the papers once more. He was still in shock...the entire Zaibatsu was his. The whole lot...everything his father had owned. It was a lot, to say the least...head offices in almost every major country in the world, billions upon billions of dollars in value...he was now the CEO of the world's largest, most powerful company. He, Jin Kazama, a little country boy, a warrior, was the CEO of the Mishima Zaibatsu.

After wrapping the meeting up, Jin left in silence, and headed back to the mansion. It seemed as empty as his soul without Kazuya there; not that he'd seen much of him of late anyway. Before he'd contracted the feared disease he'd waged war against, he'd been secluded in his office for most of the day; either that, or with the scientists in the lab, or meeting other corporation leaders. He'd been so busy that he'd had no time for Jin. Even though he was a grown man, he still missed his father's presence. He hated himself...both his parents had died as a result of his negligence...he knew Kazuya was feeling ill that last week...but he ignored it. He knew his mother was in trouble when that ogre arrived...but again, he placed no emphasis on the danger of the situation, and she died. 

Now, he knew that he had to make it up to his father...his mother...the both of them. In his mother's memory, he'd become a more peaceful, less irrational man...he'd loved his father, stayed loyal to the both of them...and promised never to even think of killing another soul. So far, his hands were completely clean of blood; he'd never killed anyone before, and never intended to in the future. To make it up to Kazuya...for the hatred of the past, for not saving him...he knew exactly what he would do.

He grabbed a phone book, found the number he was looking for, and dialled it.

After a long pause, someone answered. "Yes, hello...I'd like to make an enquiry about changing my name..." _In memory of my father._

***  
  
With a sigh, the young woman, dressed in an almost cliché white coat, stared into the cool glass at the figure that lay frozen within the contraption. He was beautiful...young, and very healthy...except he'd died of the same disease that over three hundred thousand others had. Hopefully the G-Corporation would be able to help others in the future...even if they couldn't help this one man. 

"Hanii, are you going to stare into that unit all day?"

She turned to see a balding old white man standing behind her, hands in his pockets. "Sorry Carter...I just can't help thinking there's something more we could have done. He doesn't deserve this..."

He rested a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, there will be something we can do for him. That's why he's in a stasis unit!" He smiled, and led her away from the cold laboratory. "We'll be sending him off with three others, all in stasis units. They died here and now...but in the future, we may be able to save them...to prevent further contamination, they'll be kept in cryogenic stasis in orbit above the planet..."

Hanii smiled back and nodded. "Good. A man like Kazuya Mishima doesn't deserve to die. Not like this...he would have wanted to die in the heat of battle...a warrior's death."

In the darkness of the lab, from beneath the thick, cold glass, the face of a young Japanese man stared back out through closed eyes. A single scar resided on his cheek, but the rest of his features were flawless. The G-Corporation had almost done him justice...by using DNA collected from him before the first King Of IronFist Tournament, they'd tried to revert him back to a state of health...but the virus had got to him first. His body had been taken back to that of a twenty-five-year-old, but the damage had still been done.

But in the future, perhaps they would know how to undo the damage.

They had to, for the sake of his son.

For the sake of Japan.

For the sake of the world – of humanity.

***

"Damn this all to hell!"

The curse echoed loudly through the entire Abel-corporation laboratory. The fuming young man was comforted by a colleague, who he quickly brushed off. 

"Fucking Mishima...he fucking well handed the fucking Zaibatsu to his fucking son! Fuck that Fucking fucker..."

A few people coughed. An older man muttered under his breath. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, was a gratuitous and generous use of the word fuck."

The man snarled right back at him, and resumed pacing. "We can't just _let him ruin everything!"_

Again, a few coughed; a woman took him silently by the elbow, and led him into another room.

On the way, he asked what the heck this was all about...the answer was silence.

Finally, they arrived in the testing lab. She pulled open a long, wide panel on the wall, revealing a stasis unit...

In a dark voice, she muttered back at the man; "Justice will be served."

Within the stasis unit, one might catch a glimpse, through the frost, of two twin peaks of jet black hair, and the stony visage of a middle-aged Japanese man...


End file.
